


Jean

by Majerus



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, Pre-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 09:16:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 69,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/571682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Majerus/pseuds/Majerus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione Granger was the brains of the Golden Trio. But what if things changed, what if she didn't attend Hogwarts... at least not right away?</p>
<p>This is the story of how a girl grows through troubles and hardship and learns along the way that being Different isn't all bad. Jean is the girl who grows into a young woman named Hermione who will change two worlds, but first must change how she sees herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alone

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Harry Potter et al belong to JK Rowling, with my thanks for letting me play with her toys.
> 
> This is a non-canon story. Hermione is called Jean in this story, though that will change as the story progresses.
> 
> This is my first story, so Please review. If you like it, and if you would be so kind as to point out what I did well that would be great. Even if you just let me know where you think I can improve I'd really appreciate it.  
> If you don't like it, please let me know what you don't like.

A girl sat alone on a bench in a large, deserted station. Her blue and bronze scarf was wrapped tightly against the mist that hung thick in the air, dulling the afternoon sun. A single light blue case rested on the seat beside her, she had a novel in her hands. The girl's bushy hair obscured her face as she leaned close to read by the scant light. Occasionally a noise would pierce her concentration causing her to look up expectantly.

One of those times she saw an older woman approaching, a single bag under her arm. She walked past an empty bench to stand a few paces from the younger woman.

"Mind if I sit here?" she inquired, gesturing slightly to the girl's bench.

"Please," the girl replied as she slid her case to the cement by her feet, "there you go," she smiled at the newcomer.

"Thank you, dear." The woman sat with practiced grace, though she braced herself as she eased down onto the solid bench. "Frightful weather, I'm sure they'll be soaked goin 'round All Souls Eve... excuse my manners, my name is Sarah." She finished with a smile of her own.

"Jean," the girl replied simply. The older woman seemed very nice, a friendly interruption if one had to be interrupted.

Taking out a bit of knitting, the woman gave a glance to the book in the girl's hands, "I'll not bother your reading further, I can see you were quite involved and the light won't hold much longer." With that she began to knit upon something long, brown and undefined.

Jean nodded politely in thanks, a small smile accompanying her agreement, though she remained silent. That silence continued, only broken by the click-clack of knitting and the occasional turning of a page as the pair settled in on their wait.

The atmosphere was somehow more comfortable with the rhythmic background noise and Jean found herself lost once again in another world. She read that way for another half an hour or so, occasionally glancing up at odd intervals.

Eventually the light faded so badly that she could no longer make out the words. Closing her book with a heavy sigh, Jean leaned back and closed her eyes. She realized she may have strained them a bit from the poor light as motes danced beneath her eyelids. Her mind wandered in the quiet, the mist muting even the afternoon traffic to a dull thrumming in the background.

The sullen mood she had been fighting all day returned quite easily without the distraction of the novel. She wondered about the major changes that had already come and those that would shortly turn her life in a whole new direction. Her brow furrowed as Jean began to mull over all that was going on in her life.

...

Sarah Combs considered the young lady sitting next to her. She was saddened by what she saw. It was hard to guess the girl's age as she was rather short and slight of build. Perhaps barely into her teens? The girl's small stature was not what concerned the older woman; Instead it was her eyes. Those eyes gleamed with such intellect as she read, yet they contrasted with the drawn, haggard look upon her face. The girl seemed so… tired… for someone so young.

...

Jean  _was_  tired. She was tired of being "Gifted", tired of being "Brilliant", mostly she was tired of being… Different.

As she sat waiting at the station, she hoped that this new chapter in her life would change all of that. She'd had her hopes dashed before, with a special school where she didn't fit in much better than she had at her Primary school. Well, it had been loads better than Primary, but still…

Still, this school  _had_  to be better. Everyone there was going to be different, just like her. She was getting used to not fitting in, used to being treated as an outsider, but she did not like it.

Of course she realized that the obvious thing that made her Different was her intelligence, that and her zeal to apply her intellect to learning new things. Jean was always tops in all of her classes, yet she had not been able to make friends with her classmates. She thought she had tried very hard to make friends over the years, but most kids seemed more interested in taunting her. It seemed there was no end to the reasons she was teased.

Since starting Primary she'd had trouble with her name. Well,  _she_  hadn't had trouble, but with a name like 'Hermione', some kids just couldn't get it right. So they tormented her with a dozen mocking derivations of her literary, yet awkward name. Hermione was already quite intelligent for her age and saw that this was an issue she could change, so she took action. Beginning her second year of Primary she told everyone that she'd changed her name to her middle name. They left her alone pretty quickly… about that.

As surprised as she was at how well it went at school, the response at home was quite the opposite. The argument over her name change was the first ever between seven year old 'Jean' and her parents. They had been her only authority figures besides her teachers and she'd never argued with them before. They tried to reason with her for a week solid, yet she would not budge on this 'sudden' wish to adopt her middle name at school. Eventually she requested to be called Jean by family as well. She didn't realize the hurt her mother felt over the changing of her given name for many years.

Meanwhile it seemed that the reason the kids mostly accepted Jean's name change was because they had a lot of other things to harass her over.

For one thing she could not hide her bushy "mouse brown" hair. It flowed in long, thick curls, down past her shoulders. Her wild mane absolutely refused to be tamed for more than a few hours – even after a professional salon treatment. The stylist had even said she was cursed!

Next of course she had large buck teeth. Her parents assured her she would grow into them, and there was nothing she could do about it. Since they were both dentists, she could hardly argue the point.

Then there was… is, her love of books. This obsession with reading led her to walk about, head down, face buried in her latest find. For some reason this amused her fellow students to no end, they made snide comments as she passed and sometimes even knocked down, "on accident", of course.

At the end of the list was her love of learning coupled with her amazing memory. An outside observer would point out that it was more the fact that she answered every question in every class. Correctly. In her defense, Jean could no more restrain her enthusiasm for learning (and sharing that knowledge) than she could contain her unruly curls.

Yes, it was a long list and Jean loved lists. She mentally added that when she answered questions in list form she got laughed at for that as well. She began to review her mental list of where things went from there when she forced her mind to a stop with a physical shake of her head.

Jean sat forward on the bench again, coming out of her reverie. She felt terribly self-centered just now, with everything else going on, she was back to analyzing herself, specifically her failings. The counselor had said it was 'something to work on'. Yeah... right. The perfectionist in her felt compelled to review herself, to try to find where she had gone wrong. Jean tried to talk a deep, calming breath, like her exercises, and only then began to remember her surroundings.


	2. A Comforting Word

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is a non-canon story. Hermione is called Jean in this story, though that will change as the story progresses.
> 
> This is my first story, so Please review. If you like it, and if you would be so kind as to point out what I did well that would be great.  
> Even if you just let me know where you think I can improve I'd really appreciate it.
> 
> If you don't like it, please let me know what you don't like.

Glancing to the side, Jean noted that the click-clack of knitting had stopped. She found the older woman was looking at her, as if considering something important.

"That's quite a frown for such a pretty girl."

Jean saw kindness in the woman's eyes, and curiosity... and pity?

"What troubles you, young one?" she persisted.

The pity bothered Jean, yet she knew she had been frowning, and without thinking further on the why, she tried to consider the what. What could she say to explain what had her upset, yet not delve too deeply. She settled for the simplified truth. "I was just remembering some troubled times, I guess I got caught up in the past." Jean explained, feeling quite a bit embarrassed.

"Well, it's true we all go through bad times in this life, that I won't deny. I am sorry someone of your tender years has suffered, but did things get better?"

The concern in the woman's voice warmed Jean's heart and she felt herself opening up to the stranger sitting with her in the gloom. "Well, yes, they did... for awhile."

Jean's mind began flashing through the memories of her time at the Academy, and earlier school years, it was a stark comparison. She knew she did not want to dwell on the darker times, but that was her mood, and she couldn't help the way her mind jumped to this last year and it's struggles. Realizing her eyes were tearing, Jean began to feel that terrible mix of emotions: Shame that she would cry, regret that she could not let loose her pain, and especially frustration as the two emotions swirled around, battering her vaunted self control. Bodily shuddering as she tried to come up with something more to say, some way to turn from this conversation, she could only lower her head to try to hide her emotions. Around the station the large overhead lamps seemed to dim and then flare, but Sarah paid it no attention and Jean's head was buried in her own hair.

"My goodness," the woman interrupted again. "Those better times sure didn't last, did they you poor thing?"

Before Jean could react she was engulfed in a warm embrace. The sudden and gentle way she was treated pushed her grief to the fore. Finally the tears spilled from her eyes, though she did not cry. The faint smell of vanilla filled in the missing piece of her miserable recollections and she choked back a sob. She had no idea what was going on. She had not come undone like this for years. Hadn't felt like she could let everything out, like she didn't have to be strong...

The warmth she felt as this stranger held her, rubbing her back and murmuring soothing words was beyond calming, it was as if her heart was giving her mind permission to let go. So let go she did; Hermione Jean Granger released the pent up sobs and cried freely, and the woman who held her wondered at what troubles this young woman had held onto.

Again the bulbs almost seemed to strobe in brightness. This time Sarah frowned up at them, however Jean's face was now hidden by Sarah's coat in addition to her curls and continued to be oblivious to the light show.

Though she felt foolish, Jean felt gratitude much more strongly. Not since... since her mother had gotten sick, had Jean allowed herself to cry unchecked. She knew she was the one who enforced that restriction, knew her mother would have handled it, her father would have comforted her, yet she felt she had to be strong. She knew she had to maintain her self control. She didn't want to think about why, she just had to. Had she seen the lights...

Finally the sobs ceased, the tears slowed to trickles and then stopped. After a few hiccups Jean pulled out of the hug and tried to straighten herself up, though she still sat close to her comforter. Sarah gave Jean an embroidered kerchief, along with an understanding smile.

Jean's return smile was watery and tentative, "Ma'am, I'm sorry to..."

"Nonsense, Jean, I won't hear you apologizing for letting go of some of your hurts." Sarah interrupted, once again. "Please, call me Sarah. It seems a good cry is just what you needed, and long overdue. Do you want to talk about what brought these clouds to your eyes?"

The woman... Sarah, seemed so genuine. Jean searched her mind for what she should do, yet her fantastic brain was still stuck in neutral, trying  _not_  to think of her troubles. She searched Sarah's face again, and again found kindness and pity. No, not pity, sympathy.

"You started to think of a better time," Sarah prodded.

Jean's smile was grim as she picked up the threads of her thoughts. Desperate to stay clear of That topic, she picked up from her musings on school troubles... a much safer topic.

"I was remembering a school I attended. That was the good, well, better memory." Her mind settled down and her memories of the Academy began to come into focus. She had not shared many details about that time in her life, even with her parents. It seemed odd to open up so much to a stranger; yet Jean realized she had nothing to lose by revealing these troubles to Sarah. While she didn't have a counselor's training, there was very little likelihood she would ever see the woman again. Logically, this was as good of an opportunity to release the pent up emotions as she might hope for. She had read many times that speaking about your problems was cathartic and helped the mind to heal.

Still, she wondered at the level of comfort she felt with this stranger. Jean could not quantify comfort, and that made her shoulders sag a bit, but at the same time she began to speak. Ever the organized mind, she began with the first real troubles she could recall.

"When I was in Primary I had trouble making friends. I was out of place among my own classmates and ended up getting made fun of for pretty much everything. I learned to deal with the taunts and bullying; honestly they couldn't even come up with new material – still calling me the same names when we were eight as they used at six years of age." Jean turned her face to Sarah, unconsciously rolling her eyes at the memory. "Everything changed the Christmas of my third year. Right before holidays our class took an aptitude test. That test changed everything."

.o0o.

The results arrived at the Granger home two days after Boxing Day. Jean's anticipation as she opened the packet rivaled that of Christmas itself. She felt she had done very well on the test, yet she worried over a few of the algebraic expressions... and the mass equations... and the history of Phoenician naval battles, well, honestly she was a wreck.

Her parents stood by eagerly as Jean carefully read the tables, handing off one sheet of paper at a time as she interpreted the graphs and looked at the comparative data. Her parents on the other hand took one look at the first page and tried not to jump up and down while their daughter carefully and methodically studied the whole twelve page document.

"This seems to indicate that I did quite well on my tests." She beamed at her parents.

Jean's understatement brought a chortle from her father and an amused snort from her mum.

"You scored higher than anyone in your year, fourth year too, only one fifth year and three sixth years tested higher... yes, you did quite well." The laugh Jeans mum held through her speech finally bubbled over at the end.

The very same day the Granger family received three phone calls from prestigious schools wanting Jean to be enrolled in their "progressive learning programs". Another eight called the next day. Two days after that the Granger family sat with a representative of one of the schools, it's name was long and sounded very important, but everyone referred to it as "the Academy". It was both fairly close by and had a student centered curriculum.

Jean did not return to her Primary school from Christmas holiday, instead her family enrolled her in the school just outside Oxford. They were just two hours away, yet this was the first time their daughter had been apart from them other than summers with Aunt Jane in the country.

Once settled in at the Academy, Jean quickly came to love the deep immersion in academic pursuits to the exclusion of almost all else. There was just so much to learn, and Jean wanted to learn it all!

The coursework was structured around improving the student, not conforming to an average score. Best of all, she could read all she wanted. During her first year at the Academy that is almost all she did. She read everything from the treaties under negotiation at the U.N. to Homer and Keats. She delved into histories and biographies and relaxed with French poetry. Life was a wondrous journey for the buck-toothed, bushy haired girl who never got teased unless it was because she was reading to herself out loud. For the first time in her life, she was not Different.

Or so she first thought.

She soon had to comfort herself however as things weren't the perfection she had envisioned. While she was certainly not taunted or ridiculed for her intellect at the Academy, she still didn't fit in. Though she related well intellectually with the few students she spoke to, her initial reaction to any overtures of friendship was poorly disguised suspicion. Suspicion born from years of petty jokes played by kids who would pretend to be friends just to play a cruel prank. Logically, she knew these kids were different, but the idea of trust just couldn't overcome her fear of rejection.

That fear began to be the overriding force in her life, causing her to turn away from even "safe relationships" such as study groups. Thinking practically, knowledge didn't reject you, books don't turn their back on you and tests only judge what you know. So, like many other 'gifted' students at the Academy, she did not participate in any extra-curricular activities. Instead Jean threw herself into her studies, her testing, her collecting of knowledge. Although she occasionally watched the other students together, she couldn't quite take time from the current paper, or homework, or new book, which is what she kept answering if anyone asked, including herself.

Two years later, Jean was 10 years old and already most of the way through her Secondary general studies. Her love of mathematics, politics and literature had her involved in University level courses – even though the work was quite difficult. That was what she enjoyed most about the courses, she might struggle, but she was challenged. It was over those years that she realized how little school had challenged her until the Academy.

Unfortunately, she never realized how little her life had changed with regards to relationships. Though everyone at her new school was intelligent, most of them did not let it hamper activities outside the classroom. Jean was so afraid of rejection she simply never took the chance to make friends. Thus, when things fell apart for her, she had nobody to turn to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well, there it is, what do you think?
> 
> (Reviews will hasten further updates. No, Really!)  
> M


	3. The Practical Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is a non-canon story. Hermione is called Jean in this story, though that will change as the story progresses.
> 
> This is my first story, so Please review. If you like it, and if you would be so kind as to point out what I did well that would be great.  
> Even if you just let me know where you think I can improve I'd really appreciate it.
> 
> If you don't like it, please let me know what you don't like.

Turning to her new friend, Jean marveled at how she had carried on the conversation without holding back. It was if the counselor she'd spoken to earlier had predicted the future: "You can not hold it all in, you will have to open the door soon or you'll burst."

Gathering her wits, she considered the situation briefly. It seemed now, on this bench in the gathering gloom, the unexpected comfort of a kind matron had been the key she needed. Letting out a breath she'd held too long, she plunged into the dark open doorway.

"I only saw my parents on the holidays. I was just so... busy at school." Jean paused, face scrunching in self-reproach, closing her eyes, she continued.

"The Christmas after I turned ten I learned that my mum was sick." Jean shuddered a bit. A gust of wind swirled around the pair as the memory of the first time she saw her sick mum brought fresh tears to her eyes.

"She had contracted an infection which made her weak from pain. She could no longer work, she could barely walk. The infection spread until she was wracked with debilitating pain and had to be sedated much of the time. The doctors could not agree on a cause, let alone a cure. Specialists were called in and they couldn't cure mum either."

Jean felt Sarah's hand grasp hers. She knew the tears were flowing freely down her cheeks and she simply continued, the memories and pain both sharp and dull in equal measure.

.o0o.

Jean got a leave from her coursework. She spent many days with her mum, first at the hospital and then at home helping the nurse that now worked days helping take care of her needs. Once home Jean found that there was little anyone could do for her mother. Trying to keep her comfortable and tending to her personal needs was the extent of their ability to help.

Though she was overwhelmed by it all, Jean was a great help to her mum. Her practical self clamped down with her usual self-control. She rigidly shoved aside her emotional reactions and began to analyze how she could be helpful. After overcoming their mutual embarrassment of taking care of your own mum's diapers, she began to treat it like any other lesson. Jean learned everything she needed to do to care for her mum with her usual dedication; meaning she read lots of books. Medical books, research papers, anything she could get anyone to send her or check out from the library on her forays for supplies.

She never let on about her fears when the most important woman in her life was crying and blaming herself; though Jean could not get her mum to explain what she felt she had done wrong.

At night she willed herself to be silent, re-doubling her battle against feelings of helplessness and plain old sadness. The dark, quiet hours were the worst because she could not distract herself with housework or reading, she knew she had to get her sleep or she would not be able to help. She especially did not wanting her parents to hear her crying from feelings of helplessness. This was especially hard when she could hear her parents trying to argue quietly over his taking a second job.

She knew she was having a tough time when she kept finding all her old stuffed animals in her bed each morning. She carefully put them back in their box, and assumed she was sleep walking to take them out. She pointedly refused to think about how they were all on top of the covers.

Jean began taking on the majority of the household chores, though she was spared cooking after the third time she started a kitchen fire while lost in a manuscript or medical journal. Frozen dinners were safer and far less stressful.

When the school leave was finished Jean went back to the Academy, but not full time. She was able to make arrangements to reduce her course-load and only attend on Tuesdays through Thursday. If she had made any friends they didn't seem to notice her absence. Those few classmates who came with condolences met a girl too awkward with emotions to respond properly.

Though the family cut every extra from their budget, still it was not enough. A year ago the successful couple had opened a new practice. Within months Jean's father was working feverishly to pay for all the equipment and space the pair of them were supposed to be earning for. The medical bills were enormous and the cost of in-home care, medicine and doctor visits were beyond their income and insurance.

Each week seemed to find something else that the practical young woman took upon her shoulders. She buried herself in course work, laundry, monitoring her mum's health and even started organizing the bills.

One day Jean was sorting the 'dues' from the 'past dues' and was startled to find a late notice on the house – a second notice. The more she read the wider her eyes got. It seemed that even their home was in danger of bank repossession! She felt her tightly held self-control snap, panic welled up and then...

...

The Unspeakables in charge of her region had even come up with a nickname for her: "Hazardous Hermione". Of course they called her after the name that had been recorded when she was born. Names aside, her releases of accidental magic were less frequent, yet considerably more powerful than most muggleborns 'incidents' they encountered.

Though her self control was one of her points of pride, her ability could only be pent up for so long; being pent up it tended to be all the more spectacular in it's release. That Hogwarts' own deputy headmistress had asked her to be specifically watched was unusual, it only took a few 'incidents' for the team to see the old woman's wisdom, Hermione was now monitored 24/7.

This time was even more troubling, it had taken two teams and a time-turner to effectively erase the poor girl's outburst.

...

… When she woke up on the floor she had a fleeting memory of someone else in the room, she looked around but nobody was there. She never saw the disillusioned wizards, and took the sharp  _cracks_  from the street to be a car backfire. Her accidental use of magic was  _obliviated_ , and the destruction she had wrought was undetectable in their perfectly restored den.

.o0o.

Shaking herself a bit, Jean knew she'd gotten off track, she felt  _so close_  to remembering something, yet in the end she became convinced it was not important. She felt Sarah squeeze her hand and realized she must have been silent for a bit. Furrowing her brow she picked up where her memories had gotten her off track.

"One day I was sorting bills and found out my parents were behind on their house payments. I got so... I don't know, so  _upset_  that I guess I blacked out. When I came to my senses I thought through all the options we had. I realized we couldn't afford to pay for my school anymore. The Academy didn't offer scholarships, so that was the end of that."

Sarah could tell the young woman was very practiced with that last particular act of burying emotions. With nothing more to say, she felt compelled to offer her sincere, "I'm sorry."

Jean looked up at the sympathetic woman, nodded once, then returned to her tale. She was both determined and relieved to continue, now that she had started.

.o0o.

She had been the one to make the suggestion to her parents – well, she told her dad, as her mum was barely able to open her eyes these days. It was the logical choice given the situation and Jean was a practical girl. Her dad protested at first but she could clearly see the relief in his eyes… along with the unshed tears. When her mum was finally lucid enough to talk with she had already been out of school several weeks.

Her mum never seemed to forgive herself for 'taking away her baby's dreams'. She still carried on about it from time to time months later. Jean wondered if perhaps her mum was lucid in her apologies all those months ago - that she could see the future, see that they could not continue to pay for the schooling and the medical expenses. She knew she got her analytical thinking from her; Dad was a lot of things but an organized thinker he was not. It was one of the reasons their finances and such suffered without Mum to guide them.

Worst of all, even that sacrifice was not enough. The family sold their large house and second car. They rented a small flat in the same district as Jean's old school, her dad telling Jean that she would be 'more comfortable with kids she knew'.

Jean returned to her old primary school an entirely different girl. She tried to tell her dad how out of place she felt - the district had placed her back in her age-year. Jean pointed out that she'd finished Junior schoolwork her first year at the Academy. Her dad asked the teachers about ability-based placement, however the school year was well into second term so the paperwork would not go through until next year.

Jean was soon reminded that the differences between the two schools was startling. At the Academy her ability to speak intelligently with classmates was not an issue. The average IQ was in the 140's. With her return to primary school she found her peers' topics of conversation quite childish – and often vulgar. Their interests were juvenile in the extreme to someone used to debating the impact of period authors upon their peers and in-depth examinations of history and it's relationship to current events. While logically Jean knew that she wasn't well liked through her first few years, now she could see she was just Different. She didn't feel as bad about it now, but she found that she still wanted to fit in.

Her time home with her mum had given her the opportunity to reassess her situation. She understood that her peers didn't like her for reasons beyond her looks and name. She knew deep down that she had built walls, using a bossy, know-it-all attitude to keep people from getting close. Jean watched her classmates getting along, teasing and having fun together and felt a loss deep inside.

Considering her situation practically, she knew she would not stay with these kids next year. Therefore she determined to try to get along and learn how to make friends. She made a list of steps to take towards this goal and set her plan in motion.

Even though she had completed the majority of this coursework over a year ago, she wasn't about to slack off on her grades. Jean considered the "smart kids" as a good place to begin making friends.

Unfortunately these former class academic leaders were livid to find their battle for academic superiority crushed by the return of the girl who had disappeared two years previously. Her private school credits transferred in and she had essentially already passed the term. She would still have to take the tests, so she continued to actively take notes and participate in classes.

Standard classes would have bored her to tears except she was very careful to answer every question, or at least try. When she figured out that this was just causing her more trouble the damage was done; she was glared at for answering and ridiculed when she didn't.

When she approached the study groups and 'smart kids' tables she received a rude awakening: Where she thought perhaps she could find camaraderie, the "smart kids" didn't understand her at all. They didn't share her love of learning and even belittled Jean for "knowing too much". Thus there were no friendly faces, even in the study clubs. She found their method of rebuke, ignoring her completely, to be even more upsetting than the irregular taunts that still haunted the hallways.

In mandatory exercise class it was worse still. After over two years of a mostly academic life Jean was badly uncoordinated. Even though she was next oldest in her year she was a rather small girl and the frequent opportunities for her to get knocked to the ground were often taken. "You're not one of us, freak!" was the new taunt and was all too often flung in her face, or more likely at her back as she fell. She briefly considered that they had finally come up with something new. She never lost her temper. She found that childish taunts and even physical pain were nothing compared to what she had already endured. They didn't know her. They didn't understand her. They just knew she was different, and so did she.

It wasn't that she wanted to be different; for the first month Jean desperately strove to fit in with her class. Knowing her hair was a lost cause and she was a long ways from growing into her teeth, she tried other ways to change her outward appearance.

An obvious need for change was her wardrobe. Her Academy clothing had consisted of a standardized school uniform and a bit of leisurewear for weekends. Armed with fashion magazines from the library, a careful observation of her peers and vigilantly watching for sales, Jean had changed her look to fit in nicely, at least for the most part. Because she was funding her own purchases from tutoring, she had a tight budget. She also had (self-imposed) limits – in a world where girls her age wore skirts – she wore trousers. Her legs were too pale after all, or at least that was her reasoning. There seemed to be no change good enough to end the sneers and taunting though. She simply didn't fit in.

Some things that kept her an outsider were really just her practical solution to problems. To avoid troubling her father for a ride, Jean arrived early to school having taken the bus. It was simple economics: a monthly bus pass was cheaper than the petrol used in just eleven days of rides. She was proud of her practical solution.

Arriving early allowed her to help the librarian with returns and then read till class started. Though it was standard to gossip in the hallways she stayed behind and prepared for the next class or helped the teacher.

When school was done she tutored for one hour then went home, did her chores and took care of her mum. At night she had just enough time to re-check her homework, (which she invariably had finished at school), then read for a while.

On weekends her classmates went to the malls, visited the arcades or went to parks together. Jean never did those things. She told herself that it didn't interest her. Besides those activities were expensive for a household budget as tight as theirs and Jean didn't consider them to be practical. Never mind that the park was free, she didn't go there because she was never invited.

No, Jean had tried everything she could think of. She was done trying to fit in. With a few weeks left till summer holidays, she turned her mind away from fitting in with her peers, she returned to what felt safe.

Jean returned to learning with a fervor. The girl who tried to fit in was replaced by the fully-dedicated student, her self-control never allowing the feelings of loss or self-pity to linger. She wasn't going to stay in primary school forever after all, it came down to practicality, and Jean was nothing if not a practical girl. She knew her intellect made her Different, she decided to strive to see where that difference would take her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Almost there folks, our favorite buck-toothed bushy-haired Witch will be along in a chapter or two.
> 
> Things get busy for me through the mid-week, but I promise to answer any questions or comments as soon as I find the time.
> 
> Chapter 4 will be up after I get some feedback, nice number of views, no REviews though!  
> M


	4. Magic makes all the Difference

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is a non-canon story. Hermione is called Jean in this story, though that will change as the story progresses.
> 
> This is my first story, so Please review. If you like it, and if you would be so kind as to point out what I did well that would be great.  
> Even if you just let me know where you think I can improve I'd really appreciate it.
> 
> If you don't like it, please let me know what you don't like.

It wasn't just her intelligence or studious nature that made Jean Different.

If you asked anyone from teachers to her parents, even fellow students, what set Jean apart was her mind. Her professors would point to her ability to remember and call to mind obscure information of seemingly unrelated context and combine it to arrive at a brilliant conclusion. Her classmates would ruefully acknowledge she always had the correct answer. Her own father knew he could ask anything, from the balance of the checking account, which she knew to the penny, to her mum's medical status and she could recite it all from memory.

They would be mostly right, but what truly made Jean Different was...

Magic.

Jean did not know the name for this feeling she had, this knowledge that she was different, even from other 'academics'. Her self-control seemed something she had from an early age, thus she very rarely suffered from accidental use of magic as many other magical children experienced. In fact, other than 'incidents' such as getting dressed in seconds when she was running late, causing a stubborn bee to vanish or summoning a forgotten paper from home... she didn't do magic at all. In her early years at home with her mum, they both explained away anything odd that happened, making a game of coming up with the most practical and logical explanation. Dad had blamed Brownies for the suddenly found car keys or mysteriously chipped-then-repaired china tea cup, she and her dad also made a game of it, describing the fantasy creatures differently each time.

On her own, when she experienced those few rare losses of control, Jean did what most every rational person did in the face of the unexplainable: she made an excuse for it; 'I wasn't as late as I thought, it finally flew away, I forgot I had grabbed it'... and moved on.

She had no recollection of her more recent outbursts, from when her emotions were raw and she felt close to exploding from the strain. Then again she had no reason to recall those events... 'Hazardous Hermione' was well known by now.

Thus on an early summer day, just after Jean had cleaned up from tea with her mum, the arrival of a strangely attired woman was unforeseen. Jean's mum was having one of her 'good days', where the balance of drugs seemed to counter the pain without knocking her out. She could not rise to greet their odd guest, but she was lucid enough to hear the woman's offer to enroll Jean in a private school in Scotland.

She insisted that there would have been a letter, a parchment charmed to find it's way to Hermione. Jean didn't bother correcting the name. She remembered her dad mentioning putting a strange envelope on her desk... it was likely still there, buried under Netter's Atlas of Neurology. These thoughts quickly ceased to matter as the woman had just proclaimed that Hermione was a witch.

Her announcement caught the normally keen minded girl unawares. At first her mum replied that such a thing was ridiculous. Demonstration of spell-craft by the stern older woman, turning their coffee table into a 400 pound pig, stopped both mother and daughter cold... The woman then went on to discuss a place called Hogwarts as the two Grangers sat dumbfounded. The 'premier Wizarding school in Britain' she called it, and gave assurances that it's headmaster was none other than some ridiculous sounding too-many-named fellow, really the Grangers were too busy staring at the pig to care about names.

When talk of a boarding school was raised Jean considered that once again she would be taken away from her classmates. This time it would be without regret. Jean sat speechless, her impressive mind somehow just catching up with the whole idea of "Magic". She reviewed what she had heard. She considered carefully the demonstration right there as the coffee table-pig looked back at her and grunted.

Suddenly she found herself trying to drive down the urge to jump up and shout! She Knew It! She Knew she was Different! The pig-table began to squeal and... dance? The woman's demonstration of magical powers had resonated with something deep inside the girl, something that made sense out the many strange events in her life... These thoughts were tossed aside as her practical mind seemed to clamp down, snuffing her emotions, she began to think of this logically.

Jean immediately knew that they could not afford it. It simply wasn't economically feasible and she couldn't leave her mum. One glance at her mum and she knew she would have to exercise every bit of self control she had, she could not do magic. She was not a witch... looking back down, she confirmed that the coffee table was no longer a pig. Their visitor was staring at Jean wide-eyed.

Her mother took this hesitation to keep her daughter by her side… 'Witchcraft is Evil!' dominated her panicked and somewhat medicated mind. Jean had never shown any signs that this "Witch" had asked about. Not that she would admit, or even could with her mind full of drug-cobwebs and pain. Instead she focused on that nervous voice, the one that insisted on keeping Hermione close. 'This woman may have demonic powers but that didn't mean her little girl had them!' Such were the thoughts that dominated the mind of Jean's' mum as she started screaming at their guest to leave immediately.

The older woman was quickly sent packing… and the Granger women returned to their amusing chat about how hopeless the man of the house was with numbers, a vague memory of a salesman turned away some time before.

.o0o.

But of course the witch had left her hosts oblivious to her visit, a spell that she loathed and yet had perfected through necessity. She had other candidates to visit after all and sadly these muggles reactions to the announcement of a magical world weren't at all uncommon.

It was a pity, as Albus had agreed with her assessment of the young witch; if she could be taught to harness the control she had admirably demonstrated thus far she would be a fine witch. Conversations with her friend in the Unspeakables had convinced her that this girl would have to be monitored. If she did not change her mind by the end of the summer, another magic restricting spell would be cast upon her.

Minerva hated the Ministry's policy which required all muggleborn magical children to have a damper put upon their magic as soon as they had an 'incident'. She also realized that without it, some muggles would be seriously hurt, not to mention the threat to the Statute of Secrecy. It was a no-win situation which left most muggleborns caught completely by surprise on her first visit. Only a few had accidents with the magical restrictions upon them, and a very few were as... eventful, as Hermione Jean Granger. Then there was the truly sad part of the law. Muggleborns who refused the magical world by their twelfth birthday were not just obliviated, not just dampened, they were magically blocked... essentially turning them into squibs.

Shaking her head, the deputy headmistress stood over the two Granger's. She felt wrong leaving the girl to be denied her place in the magical world because of an obviously sick and emotionally backwards mother. With a nod to herself the witch cast another intricate spell, leaving the young witch a Token. Placing a memory trigger beneath the oblviation, Minerva hoped the girl would never have need of it and promised herself to return in August for another try. She had to respect the wishes of the parent, but she didn't have to ignore the child.

Looking into the girls mind, she spoke directly to her subconscious. "Should you change your mind, you will think of this little statue," the older woman handed Jean a small gray statue of a cat. "It will appear in your hand and you only need to rub it awhile and I'll come straight away."

.o0o.

Jean had found the little cat figurine in her hand several times in the last years, but she had never rubbed it.

She once again shook herself out of her recollections, she didn't share the memory of the 'witch', not then with her parents and would not now. Even though her mum hadn't remembered the meeting at all, Jean had, right up to the woman's parting words.

...

The summer had ended with another visit from the old woman, this time she spoke to Jean and her dad, but the results were similar: her dad seemed to shut down at the thought of magic. Though he wasn't as orderly-minded as the Granger females, he was under tremendous emotional strain. Instead of leading to wonder and questions, the conjured butterflies and transfigured tea-cup led her father to stand abruptly and ask their visitor to "leave, and take your fancy illusions with you." His forced polite tone brooked no argument and the woman had once again weaved her 'obliviate' nonsense. Well... nonsense to Jean, once again her parent was indeed oblivious to the woman's visit. The old witch left Jean with the same promise and reminder of the cat she could use to contact her.

Looking at her newest friend, Jean knew this was not the time to reveal all of her secrets. She also knew she only had one direction to go with her story.

"I threw myself into my studies that spring and through the summer. Mum wasn't improving, but she wasn't getting worse. We fell into a routine and I looked forward to my Secondary testing. All I wanted to do was avoid going to another school with the same class as those children who hated me."

.o0o.

Year six was her last year of Primary school and she was glad it was behind her. She resolved to look forward to a new school and a fresh start. With good enough scores she could go to a better school. She could only consider this option since her mum had stabilized enough that she didn't need a full-time nurse. What's more, Dad had hired a second dentist and things had finally settled down financially.

It was no surprise when Jean tested for Secondary that she had once again set the bar. She declined the invitations to the private schools, knowing that money was still very tight. Instead she took all the coursework she could from scholarship programs. She spent her seventh year of schooling almost entirely studying for and taking tests. She passed exam after exam, climbing through the years of secondary education. Jean easily finished her secondary work and testing within the year. She didn't even really remember any of her classmates, then again she was rarely in any standard classrooms longer than it took to test out of them.

Jean sat her college entrance exams at age thirteen. She was accepted to the University of Cambridge with full scholarship. She chose Cambridge's Wolfson College as it had an excellent independent studies program with an emphasis on progressive students such as herself.

She smiled as she accepted the offer from the pleased looking entrance-board members, stepping forward to sign the various forms under her dad's signature. Jean enrolled as a Literature and Political Sciences double major; she would be their youngest student and promised to bring much prestige to their lesser known college. She left wrapped in the blue and bronze striped scarf of her new academic home. Her joy was such that the scarf seemed to glow as she wrapped it around herself. The few that saw the strange event believed it must have been a trick of the light.

Looking up she studied her father's face as he held out his arms to hug her. It was a good hug, but the look was a mix of pride and sadness. She'd be home for a few more weeks then begin living in the dorms with other Foreign Exchange, Gifted and Special Needs students. She'd have a mentor as well as be living in a secure facility but she knew his thoughts: his little girl was leaving, again.

.o0o.

"I spent my first year of college much the same as my first year at the Academy. Head buried in a book, avoiding other people, going home on weekends while mum was doing good. We had good talks sometimes, and..." Jean wiped furiously at her eyes, clenched her jaw once (the flicker of the overhead lights seemed commonplace to them both by now) and forced her mind and her voice to return to the story she now felt compelled to complete.

"After Easter I met some people talking in olde English out on the commons. They were talking to people as they passed by, getting reactions and laughing. When I responded in proper form and diction I thought I'd broken them, they were all stunned." Jean's first genuine grin of their talk lit her face and Sarah smiled in response. She could see the beauty that Jean would be someday... if she could smile more and dwell on her tragedies less.

"Somehow I started spending some time with this group of misfits and... well, as a misfit I fit." Another grin, another answering smile. "It was only a few times that we got together, our schedules were all crazy since we were, well are, independent studies kids. But it was nice." Jean sat quietly for a moment, as if gathering her courage for what came next.

"Over the course of that spring I spent less time at home. Mum was mostly unable to stay ahead of the pain. She wasn't aware much of the time when I was home. Dad said he understood, truthfully he was working himself too hard and he wouldn't hear a word about it from me. Put his foot down and all that." A grimace, but quickly discarded with a shake of her bushy head, Jean looked back into Sarah's face. The conversation was turning serious, Sarah could feel a tension mounting. It almost felt like the bench was vibrating with it.

"I went back to Wolfson after that long, sad summer and felt like I belonged someplace at last. I felt guilty at the relief I experienced when I got to hang out with my friends."

.o0o.

September saw Jean fully immersed in her college life. In what was the best weekend she could recall since she was just a little girl, Jean had celebrated her fourteenth birthday twice. She went home from school that weekend and spent all day Saturday and the Sunday after church (he'd stopped going) with her father. Mum was back to full time sedation and they left unspoken what they knew in their hearts.

They wandered through a series of old London book stores he had plotted out. Her dad even promised to take her to those stores they didn't make it to the next time she came home. They each had a cupcake at their favorite French restaurant to finish the day and he drove her back to the dorms. She knew that her dad missed her, still he also appreciated that he had to sign her in before nine pm or they'd come looking for her.

That night her friends threw her a surprise party, with games and punch and even a cake. They settled in and watched "The Princess Bride" which someone had managed to figure out was her favorite story. Perhaps the fact she had three worn out copies amongst her otherwise pristine books was a clue.

While she sat with her friends, Jean felt she belonged for the first time. She looked around at the motley crew surrounding her. They ranged in age from Thomas, the group's unofficial 'mentor' at seventeen, to Jean at fourteen. Thomas was the too-tall Welshman who adored Star Wars and planned to be an Astrophysicist. Aerin was the Irish lass with a penchant for acting and love of movies (her four VHS copies of The Princess Bride were a testament to her contribution) yet who was studying politics so she could 'change the world'. Next was Megan whose red hair showed her to also be Irish, she was the gently spoken one of the group – until she let loose her laugh – who was deep into her advanced psychiatry studies. Lastly James was the 'undecided genius', having done coursework in political science, criminal justice, physical science, theoretical science... and theatre.

...

Jean's birthday party was also special because the students rarely spent much time together. Most of their schedules clashed and even when they had free time their studies kept them bound to a desk somewhere, in Jean's case usually the campus library.

Still, the five of them had managed to eek out time together about a dozen times as October came to a close and they were easily the best friendships Jean could recall ever having. School continued to challenge her, she had begun running in the morning with James, and she felt more at peace with her life than she could remember.

With a little more help from her 'unspoken friends' in addition to her new friends she had pushed magic to the back of her mind. Sometimes she still found a small gray cat figurine on her desk or in her pocket, but she didn't let it bother her.

The only thing she was concerned about was her mum. She was powerless to change what was coming, but knowing it didn't make the end any easier.

.o0o.

Minerva Mcgonagall sat back and half-listened as the staff meeting turned into a political discussion. Things were finally settling down at school, and though last year had it's share of tragedy, by mid term things were settled down. So far this term had been much more quiet, though apparently not so peaceful outside the school.

Word had filtered in just as the Halloween feast approached that muggleborns were disappearing around Britain.

The 'oversight' by her friend in the Unspeakables was being investigated. They suspected that several muggleborns were not 'squibbed' as the law required. She refused to dwell on it and dashed off a quick prayer for her kind-hearted friend.

Returning to the conversation at hand it seemed that the winds of change were blowing at the Ministry. Albus believed that a dark power was moving in the shadows of the government. He dismissed out of hand the return of Voldemort with a maddening confidence that was supposed to be reassuring yet still left the deputy headmistress with a raised eyebrow.

Albus apologized for his absence of late as he was away from the school a great deal in his role as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Given last years Halloween, Minerva's already tight lips formed a grim frown as she pondered what might go wrong this year. She resolved to contact someone to look out for the Granger girl. Minerva McGonagall had no use for the poppycock of divination, but she was not going to ignore that 'gut feeling' that something bad was coming.

.o0o.

Sarah Combs considered the girl who she had only known roughly an hour. She had never heard so many miserable experiences short of a few war-stories from the lads. This was no veteran in her presence, and yet she was just as scarred by trauma. She'd had a few bright spots in her story, which once coaxed to start had flowed like water through a broken dam.

This last term of college seemed to be going well for her. It was the first time the girl had mentioned other people before talking of coursework. The first time she had used the word 'friend'. Probably the first time she had experienced friendship. Sarah shook her head sadly. What a sad tale, and yet she knew by instinct that there were things left untold. More to the point, there was something more to be told, something hanging over the girl like a dark cloak.

Sarah waited patiently, almost dreading Jean's continued tale. She had no idea why she had pushed the girl into talking, why she had taken a stranger into her arms. The young woman obviously needed comfort and that seemed to be good enough at the time. It seemed odd now, but... but Jean had started speaking again, and her tone told everything.

...

"Things have been going well at school... it's just." Jean shrugged again, this time listlessly. Tears silently tracked down her face as her mind failed to find a way to express the helplessness she felt.

Sarah had know the girl was building towards something. Given how long her mother had been sick, it wasn't hard to guess at the source of these latest tears. "Is it your mum, Jean?"

The nod was almost too slow to catch, if not watched for. Sarah moved once again to take the young woman into her embrace, this time with slow deliberation. Jean didn't respond awkwardly like the first hug, instead melting into the arms of this woman she felt like she could trust with anything.

Running her hand over the fly-away curls, Sarah held Jean as the tears turned to choked sobs which shook her small frame. The two sat that way for a long while. Jean cried and Sarah consoled while a man dressed in a dark duster stood back in the shadows and watched in silence.

"My, uhh, my Mum was so sick for so long." Jean sniffled, glad for the embroidered kerchief still clutched in her hand. "So I went back to school. And I wasn't there for her... or my dad. She passed today."

Sarah barely heard the words, yet she clutched the girl ready for fresh sobs.

Jean stayed steady though, having cried herself out. She sat up a bit, leaning back against the bench and speaking aloud her immediate plans as though reminding herself. "I, I have to take the bus because dad's car won't start. He's going to meet me at the change-over and we're... going home."

The London-Paddington bus came along five minutes later, and Jean squeezed the woman again as she let go to stand.

"Oh, this is yours?" Sarah asked, her voice obviously disappointed.

Jean glanced quickly at the still-seated matron. "Yes," she replied hesitantly. She had memorized the schedules and knew she would have another hour wait – and her dad was waiting. "I have to go." Jean stated the obvious, but the regret was thick in her voice.

Sarah stood and took Jean in her arms. "Your dad will need you and you need him. Don't close yourself off again, do you hear me?" The authority in Sarah's voice took Jean by surprise, but she nodded acceptance, knowing it was true and she needed to hear it.

A few other passengers had moved from other benches, and were boarding the bus. Jean gathered her case, tucked her book in her pocket and then realized she still had the kerchief.

"Keep it." Sarah's voice held laughter as Jean looked at the sodden cloth helplessly. "Remember me, and my 'wisdom'." Sarah mocked herself with a smile. "Remember everyone needs to let go some times."

Jean nodded, unable to find words, and got on the bus. A large, dark haired man got on behind her, his face concealed behind the upturned collar of a dark duster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is it, the end of the beginning :)
> 
> Seriously, I promised last chapter that we'd get to Hermione and Jean just took off talking. I apologize, but I hope the background will be helpful in explaining who our heroine was as it impacts who she will become.
> 
> I know this is a long chapter, sorry if that's not good for some, as mentioned Jean had a lot to say before she fades away. She will have some more time next chapter, but I promise Hermione will emerge either then or the chapter after. Sometimes characters really do have more control than you would think!
> 
> Just so you know, any time her mum thinks of her it's always as Hermione. McGonagall also calls her by her given name, having no idea about this 'Jean' business :)
> 
> Also I never used anything other than mum or dad and that's on purpose. Mildly irritating I know, but it is how I see them. Unlike our dear Jean they just never got a voice for the most part... we'll see what happens in the future.
> 
> As two private reviews mentioned it, I tried to add a few Magical 'incidents' in earlier chapter edits. If you read CH 1-3 before Wednesday, November 21st you may want to go back. You could also leave a review while you're there :)
> 
> I respond to all registered reviewers by PM


	5. Last Bus Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not my world, or my characters, thanks JKR for the sandbox.

Emotionally spent, Jean sat against the window, trying not to think too much over all that had transpired in the last hours. She was truly glad she was riding through to the station as she doubted she recognized that they'd stopped a half dozen times. She knew one thing had come of unburdening herself of all... all the long held hurt.

The time she had spent with Sarah had left her exhausted in one sense, and yet deep inside she felt energized. It was as if the tiredness that had been leeching at her heart was washed away by her confession to the woman who took the time to care and listen.

Jean was at peace, genuinely at ease for the first time in, well she didn't know exactly how long.

A voice in the back of her head scolded that she ought not feel at ease when her mother lay dead. Jean reviewed the thought, considered and analyzed it. It was the negative voice, the one that always seemed to look for trouble. Of course she felt terrible that Mum was dead... yet at the same time the young woman's long-dormant beliefs spoke up loudly and told her that Mum was in a better place. Those beliefs also taught her that forgiving – even herself, maybe especially herself – was crucial to living life.

 _'Where did that come from?'_  Her eyes squinted, then she shook it off. Yes, she'd been raised in the church, but neither her nor her dad had stayed with it once Mum had fallen ill.

Shrugging both mentally and physically, Jean took a deep breath and held it, then let it out slowly. She repeated this twice more before she shook her head, realizing she was doing the exercises the counselor had taught her. Inwardly shrugging again, her practical self proclaimed  _'well, it seems to work'_. As to religion, the subject seemed to raise so many more questions than answers right now...

"London Station, last stop!" rang out through the bus. Jean held on as the massive vehicle executed a final tight turn, her thoughts switching gears as the bus lurched to a stop. The doors opened and the two dozen or so passengers began the process of filing out into the bustling station.

Checking her watch, she saw the bus was right on time. She scanned the crowd out the windows but the odd tint combined with the interior lighting made everyone out there seem eerily blurred; like how she imagined a ghost would appear. She filed towards the exit with the last few people, trying to keep her unwieldy case balanced as she walked down the steps.

Jean was wrapped in her father's arms as she barely cleared the step. The earlier feelings of peace seemed to amplify as her small frame was engulfed in the rare hug. The familiar smells of Dad permeated her senses and brought happier memories to mind, setting aside once again any misgivings of why she was here.

His tight embrace was released and she looked up to see an equally tight smile on his face. It was a bittersweet reunion, yet she tried to convey in her small answering smile the love she felt for her father. The clench of his jaw seemed to relax and he leaned his forehead to hers in a move that brought bittersweet memories of getting tucked in after prayers. Sure enough he followed up by laying an exaggerated 'smack' of a kiss upon her forehead. Father and daughter smiled genuine smiles at each other.

They had no more time than that for greetings as he took up her case and the pair of them turned towards the stairs. She had memorized the schedule and earlier over the phone the ever-organized daughter made sure he had the route written out in detail. They needed to walk quickly across the station, take a subway, then another few-blocks walking to get the Bedford bus stop and on to home.

They never noticed the continued presence of the dark-clad fellow that followed in their wake.

.o0o.

Albus watched his deputy as she paced. Darkness had fallen and they both knew the attacks would begin tonight, though she once again had to take him on his word. They both glanced at the fireplace at odd intervals.

"Holding the feast early hasn't backfired too badly..." The sharp look from the woman as she strode back from the door answered the old man's attempt at levity.

Standing before him, Minerva McGonagall stood ramrod straight and peered down at the sitting wizard. "She's in danger, she and dozens more, and you make jokes?" She whirled around, her feet resuming their task as the stern eyes tracked worriedly to the flames again.

.o0o.

The single bench was full, though it hardly mattered as the Grangers had just caught their breath when the last bus home pulled to a stop.

Once on the bus they just had settled in when the engine died, the heavy bus drifting to a stop not a block from their boarding. A collective groan went up, and Jean glanced about to see mostly middle class folk likely wanting to get home from work. A ragged cheer met the bus's roar back to life, but the inquisitive young woman was not encouraged as she saw the driver shrug at it's return to operation.

A reassuring grasp of her arm brought her attention back to her dad. Giving a small smile she moved her hand to his, returning the squeeze to his hand. She left her small hand in his and saw the smile tug at his lips. They hadn't been close like this for a long time, she realized with another guilty pang.

Quashing the guilt, the bushy-haired girl decided to be there for her dad. She knew she had to talk to him, not just 'be strong' for him. Mentally she understood she had to open up. Logically she grasped the concept, putting her emotions out there was another matter.

Jean frowned, her musings interrupted as she felt a strange sensation pass through her. Simultaneously the lights within the long vehicle began flickering and the power to the engine died once again. The collective groan returned, a few mutters added for flavor.

A few harsh coughs filled the silence as they sat. A couple had left, apparently close enough to their stop that they would rather walk in the drizzling rain than wait for who knows how long.

The bus driver had called in on the radio and was waiting for instructions when once again the engine sputtered back to life, then seemed to settle down.

What bothered Jean is that once again she felt the strange pulse down her spine. A feeling of mild discomfort settled in her stomach as her mind seemed to be picking at a long-lost memory. It was slightly maddening as she had no idea what was going on around her or in her own skin. The earlier feelings of peace were quickly turning into discomfort, but not the same variety as had haunted her for some time.

Jean exchanged a raised-eyebrows look with her dad as they listened to the driver try to explain to dispatch that he had no idea what was going on and yes they had fuel and yes the maintenance schedule was complete and so on. Finally, somewhat exasperated, the driver shifted into gear and they were once again moving.

The lights continued to flicker oddly and Jean's physical discomfort rose as the odd tingles crawled up and down her spine.

Then one of the passengers became belligerent, demanding to be let off the bus, claiming it was broken and raising all manner of fuss about the state of this that and everything between.

Since they were between stops the driver tried to holler back to ask the man to wait. Jean didn't look to the back to see who was causing the trouble but she felt her dad tensing next to her. The man became louder, ringing the bell again and again demanding to be let off.

The driver had little choice, and pulled over to the next corner with enough room. The rude bloke actually had the nerve to complain about the location, claiming it as a bad neighborhood and demanding the driver go on a few more blocks.

This happened once more until they finally came to a scheduled stop. They were further delayed as the trouble maker claimed this wasn't his stop! Finally the driver put the bus in park, walked to the back of the bus and had a few words with the fellow. Soon the large, darkly dressed fellow was escorted off of the bus but not before he caught Jean's eye.

He seemed to look at her as though he knew her, and yet she was quite certain she'd never seen him before. A bit unnerved, she was glad to see him gone, and said as much to her father who found the statement odd for his usually quiet girl, though under the circumstances he quietly agreed.

The bus hadn't made it half a block before Jean felt another surge through her body and the bus sputtered and died once again. This time the lights were off as well and even the radio was dead. A dapper dressed older man pulled a large portable phone from his case but found it was also dead. With a slow, steady rain outside, the dark bus held many of the occupants for another ten minutes. This time however the bus seemed to have finally and truly quit.

"I've fare for a cab, it's miserable out."

Jean turned to see by the glow of streetlamp that her dad was looking for a response, she hadn't realized it was a question. "Well, I do have an extra umbrella." she answered with a small smile at her preparedness. "How far is it? I can't tell where we are in this gloom."

Her dad returned shortly from conferring with the driver. "Ten more blocks to the stop, two from there to home. We can diagonal the park and save quite a bit though." It seemed his mind was made up as he helped Jean to her feet. Turning to the driver as they approached, Jean thought her dad's tone was sympathetic, unlike some of the grumps that had already left. "We'll get out here, sir."

The pair stepped out into the wet night with simple black umbrellas shielding most of the rain as the wind was fairly calm.

Considering the walk ahead, Jean was trying to find the right words, mostly trying to deduce where she should begin. Her dad didn't seem big on conversation and they trekked along for awhile, skirting the outside of the park which allowed them to cut through two blocks. Memories of the park were not generally good, she'd mostly stopped going as being bullied in school was bad enough without seeking it after class and on weekends.

Clearing the park they turned up a sidewalk, staying near a tall fence that nicely blocked the small breeze. Walking with her arm in her dad's, Jean had almost completed her opening statement and first three follow ups.

.o0o.

The headmaster stood slowly and walked to large ornate fireplace, warming his hands briefly before meeting his old friends gaze. He had considered his friend's words before. Several times now they had had this conversation, though it had become more of a dressing down with the dreaded night finally upon them. "You are right, of course. I'm sorry. We will know when it begins, and then we will do what we can."

If anything the response seemed to draw more ire from the primly dressed witch. " _We,_ " she spat, "should have done something when  _I_  told you what the Unspeakables said." Turning fully to face him she stabbed one hand towards the fiery portal. " _We'_  could have saved them already. You knew that these reports were accessible by their spies. You knew that these children would be targeted, that she in particular would offend their sick view of purity!"

Wincing, the aged man stepped back towards his desk. She was right in many ways but yet the issue of  _when_  to move was much more complex than the normally restrained woman wanted to acknowledge. As deputy headmistress Minerva knew all about the plans, responses and contingency plans. Standing next to the massive seat of power Albus also knew that logically working through those ideas was much different than waiting for the...

The roar of the fireplace cut off their respective thoughts as they turned to see the orange flames turn bright blue then settle down to a dark green. Minerva gasped as Albus fairly leaped into flames, though she was on his heels a heartbeat later.

.o0o.

Jean was jerked from her thoughts as her father stopped in his tracks and pulled her forcibly behind him. There was barely enough time for her to consider that she'd once again felt that tingle up her spine when her father spoke, but not to her.

"Just what do you want? Money? We've only a few pounds but you can have it if you'll just move on." His voice was harsh, carrying a menacing undertone that Jean couldn't believe came from her father at all. His grip was just shy of painful, unyielding in a way that again brought no frame of reference in all of Jean's years.

She stuck her head out around his body to see the troublemaker from the bus. The man's long dark hair fell unruly about his head, his large frame was covered in a heavy black coat, more like a robe. He stared not at her father, but right into the eyes of the girl sheltering behind him. The look in his gaze was a strange mix of feral anger and indignation, as if he'd been insulted.  _'Great, the man is crazy and is probably going to mug us.'_ Jean wondered why a mugger would be wearing such fine clothes, they were almost vintage...

Shuddering, she forced her mind into action – ' _what to do in case of a mugging?_ ' Taking in her surroundings, Jean observed that they were between houses but not in the alley proper. Tall fence-rows blocked much of the view this side of the street but the other side was lined with sidewalks that led up to a nice row of homes – who gets mugged here? They were in the suburbs for goodness sakes!

When no reply was forthcoming Jean felt herself being led into the street, her father was heading them towards the opposite side where the harsh blue-white streetlamp bathed the area in secure seeming light.

"You can't go home. They've been waiting for you." The large man spoke in a calm voice which was much in conflict with his fierce visage. A quick glance showed Jean that the crazy man hadn't moved, yet he continued to stare – it seemed just at her.

"Listen, I…" Jean's father had stopped talking, in fact he stopped in his tracks and seemed to sway in place a moment before becoming completely still. Looking from her dad to the mugger, Jean saw that the strange man was now pointing a stick at them.

The crazy mugger continued to speak in that maddeningly calm, deep voice. "Minerva said you were a smart girl so listen carefully Hermione Jean Granger." His eyes were intense, the stick was still in his hand, his words were now urgent, forceful. "You've got trouble waiting for you at home, they've found you."

Jean didn't need to hear any more. She had no idea what he had done to her father but this Crazy looking man was saying Crazy sounding things and she was scared!

So she screamed. "FIRE!" Taking a deep breath, she really let loose, "HELP! FIRE"… she spun in place, belting out for all she was worth, "FIIIRRRRE!"

Turning full circle she checked on the man's position, ready to pull her dad towards the streetlamp… but the dark stranger was still just standing there. He was even smiling!

"Go ahead and scream Hermione, let me know when you are well and done. You're safe 'nuff here for a moment more and I'd just as soon you did not panic the others."

Regardless of the rational tone he seemed fond of his words made no sense. Instead of calming her, they twisted around and confused her. Jean  _Hated_  being confused!

So she screamed some more. Rational thought be damned, this was freaking her out! ' _Why wasn't her father moving!? Why is this maniac just standing there grinning at her!?'_  Switching out of her internal debate, Jean let loose with another screamed question: "WHY ISN'T ANYONE COMING OUT OF THEIR HOUSES?"

_'Wait... why wasn't her voice echoing down the street?'_

A strange calm fell over the young woman. Realizing that the logical response to her actions was not working, Jean pushed everything else aside, considering her next move as calmly as she could.

It was difficult, with her pulse pounding in her ears and a complete stranger calling her by name and talking nonsense, but she forced herself to think practically, to search her logical mind for some rational explanation for these completely irrational events.

This calm persisted for about ten seconds.  _'I can't run to a house as that would leave Dad with the crazy guy. I have no experience fighting and this man is big, and scary looking and... and why the hell isn't Dad moving?'_ A cold feeling took hold in her core, none of this made any sense!

Her mind clamped down again on the useless fear. Jean forced a few deep breaths and fell back to trying to think of what to do next. ' _Buy some time, yes, that's good!'_ She had to talk to the crazy man, to get him to slip up and make some kind of sense. Jean tried to think of a question to pose to the man. A quick glance confirmed he was idling in the street still.

Her debate classes taught her to never ask a question she did not have the answer to. Mind whirling, Jean tried desperately to form a question that she wanted to hear the answer to – let alone had any clue to the answer.

"Ok, uh… who… who is uhm…"  _'What? Who is waiting at her house? Wait, how did this man get here ahead of them… How did he know where they were going?'_ Jean knew that she was losing the battle between logic and panic. Fortunately the man seemed to somehow pick up her questions from her babble.

"My name is Sirius Black. I knew where you were going because I've been tasked to follow you by a friend of mine named Minerva McGonagall. She told me to tell you: 'Remember the cat'."

He smiled a disarming smile and it quite suddenly occurred to Jean that she was holding the small cat statue in her hand, with the umbrella – her other hand was once again locked on her dad's motionless arm. Memories of the witch and her promise came back and she rubbed the little cat furiously while she awaited the miraculous rescue from the fairy tale witch... or the other shoe to drop. She didn't have to wait long.

"We found out that you had been targeted, that if you went home as scheduled then you'd be dead right now, that's why I delayed your bus. Hermione, you and your father are in danger."

With that, as if on cue, a terrible scream resounded through the air, followed quickly by a heavy ' _Thump'._  Jean could feel the air ripple with… something. Something terrible, like and yet not like the feelings she'd been having all day, especially since her talk with Sarah. Jean vaguely mused that the talk with the kind woman seemed to have happened days ago.

Once again Jean was torn from her thoughts as a bloom of orange shot into the air, illuminating a horrid visage floating in jet-black smoke. The flicker of flames played upon the terrifying sight of a snake slithering through a huge skull. Jean's mind picked up the many visual cues and suddenly came to a terrible realization. That horrid cloud was in the direction of her home. One glance at her immobile father and her head began to throb as she panicked. ' _Our Home Is On Fire! Dad!? How do I... What do I do?_ ' Her dad's motionless form provided no answers as the snake continued to writhe in the sky even as the flames slowly died down.

The calm, dark, crazy mugger had finally moved, yet Jean looked helplessly at the grotesque symbol over what she now  _knew_  was her home. Used to be her home.

She was trying to deny what she increasingly felt was true: this was about her... other difference. Thinking again of the cat, she felt vaguely reassured that it was still in her hand. If only to have something to hold onto, she tried to keep it out of view from the man. She continued to rub the statuette even as the relief of it's presence warred with the rational part of her brain that simply wanted to deny that any of this was real.

The man now stood before her. He was speaking, but all Jean could do was rub the figurine, rub and stare, stare at the snake and the skull and the orange glow at the base of the smoky symbol. The orange glow of fire from her home.

A feeble attempt to work out what all of this meant were fought with the dull ache while a high pitched whine seemed to blot out all noise.

Jean came to a measure of awareness when the man grabbed her hand and placed it on a small length of rope. Her eyes followed the rope to find that her father's hand was being held to the other end.  _'He's tying us up in the street?'_

The thought hadn't even fully formed before it was discarded - even as she felt the most extraordinary sensation in her stomach.

The  _tug_  was startling and for a moment Jean really wanted to be sick. Instead she picked herself up, not even aware of how she was knocked down. She was disoriented and confused, her senses on overload. She could see, though what she beheld just added to the questions; somehow she was in an old, dark museum-like house. Smell seemed to come back with a vengeance and it was not a pleasant change from the wet street as  _musty_  and  _moth-balls_ joined to assault her poor nose.

Then she could hear again, the whine was finally gone, but her head continued to ache horribly. Jean was still rubbing the figurine as she was led gently by the elbow from an old-fashioned foyer into a more serviceable looking, brightly lit kitchen. Jean absently noted a few others in the room, including children who were either eating at the large table or staring, either at her or... just staring. She supposed she was staring as well. The shell-shocked young woman could hardly bother to count herself rude.

An older woman in a nurses outfit bustled up and began waving another stick at her. Jean flinched from the object that she remembered from the dark man, and suddenly she was frantically looking for her father.

"Daddy!?" She cried out, trying to bat away the stick and pull away from the hand on her arm she hadn't realized was there. She turned in place to see her father walk right past her, though his movements were jerky and uncoordinated. He sat down with a thump and Jean saw the dark man in the doorway. He was lowering one of those sticks. Somehow her attention became riveted to what she could only grasp as the cause of all this...

The crazy mugger, or kidnapper, or whatever he is, was staring at her again. His previously calm demeanor now appeared tired. The bright lights brought out worry lines and up close she could see that his face was drenched in sweat, though his clothes were strangely untouched by the rain. Jean was pulled from further study of the fascinating subject of how dry her kidnapper's - for that's how she was coming to see him - overcoat was when the nurse spoke.

"Finite Incantum" was pronounced, and the nurse moved of one of those sticks to accompany the nonsense - although part of Jean's mind considered the Latin meanings, briefly.

Then her dad slumped a bit before his eyes bugged out and he jumped up to grab hold of his daughter. The tight hug from the bus station was no match for the grip he had engulfed her in. The smells of rain added to those uniquely 'Dad' and Jean finally let go of all pretense of self-control.

All of this, whatever was happening, it was just too much. For the second time this same terrible, emotionally exhausting day Jean began to weep without restraint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The muggle world is no longer safe for Jean. How will she handle the magical world she has been denied (and denying) for so long? What changes will be demanded of her, and how much more can she handle?
> 
> Thank you to everyone who reviewed chapters 1-4, I truly appreciate your feedback and will continue to answer each signed reviews by PM.
> 
> Thanks once again for reading, please take a moment to review. Your encouragement is appreciated and your comments help make me come back to share what's next.  
> Blessings,  
> M


	6. Hermione Granger… Witch?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There have been mentions of how sad the story it. Yes it is. It Will get better, but this is where my Hermione comes from, you have to know Jean to know Hermione. As to the action, that's where the magial world is... and where Hermione is going, right?

The evening had passed in a blur which at times seemed to crawl. That made no sense. But then again nothing about this night did, ever since they had gotten on that last bus home.

 _'Home. My house has burned down. At least Mum was safe in the funeral home... not now!'_ Jean blinked, trying hard to make sense of things, but now things, not... not the thing she couldn't deal with. Finally she stopped trying to think altogether and just sat and waited.

Jean had sat in the kitchen with her dad for what seemed like hours, the world spinning with activity around them. Some sort of crisis was going on, that much was clear. She had no idea how long it was until the dark man that had 'magically' snatched them off of the street came back.

She knew when he walked into the kitchen because the bustle stopped for a moment. He looked terrible and smelled worse. Her dad's eyes got really wide when he looked upon their captor, but then he closed back down and stayed silent.

The man in black spoke briefly with the red headed woman who seemed to run the kitchen (and Jean felt sure was watching the Grangers closely) and then left again. When he returned a few minutes later he had changed clothes and didn't have that smell any more, but he still looked out of sorts.

Now the three of them were in a small room which had the vague odor of detergents. She had wrinkled her nose as they first entered and he had told them that this 6’ by 8’ room used to be a cleaning closet; but they had needed the space so they expanded it and converted the closet into a bedroom. He had apparently noticed the smell as he mentioned not being any good at ‘those charms’ and said someone would take care of the smell later.

The closet-turned-bedroom had two small beds, one on either side of the doorway, and the chair in between as the only furnishings. The Grangers sat huddled on one rickety bed while their 'host' sat on the chair, by the door.

She sat quietly next to her dad as their kidnapper/rescuer explained the new world she was now a part of. Or was she? Did she want to be? Did she have a choice?

Looking at her dad’s face she could see he was just as tuned-out as she was. Perhaps he was in shock? She squeezed his hand, still clasped in hers since they had left the kitchen, and got an answering squeeze. He turned to look at her and slowly shook his head, but what that meant she could only guess.

“Perhaps we should continue this tomorrow.” The man seemed to have realized that he had lost his audience and had already started towards the door.

Returning to the present, Jean realized she really was feeling out of it when the dark man glanced at the chair as he turned at the exit; with a wave of his hand it was gone. She tried to feel something about that. It should have been astonishing or startling at the least, but right now all she could think was how hard she was trying not to think about…

“One of the nurses will be by in a bit with some clothing and to show you to the loo. You can change there and use the robes on the beds as you go between. Or do you want a curtain in here? I don’t mean to put you in an awkward spot, but I figured you wouldn’t want separate rooms, at least for tonight.”

That was very thoughtful of him. She should really thank him for being such a thoughtful host. Or kidnapper, or whatever. Lord she really had no idea what to think. Her dad picked up the heavy, dark blue cloth robe and looked at the man who called himself Sirius Black.

“Thank you, Mr. Black.” He said, rather mechanically, and turned his back on their host to look at Jean.

She saw the exhaustion plain on her dad’s face, that and… something else, something she had never seen before on his usually calm face. Was it fear?

“Please, call me Sirius. Mr. Black was my father.” His forced laughter fooled none of them. “Hermione,” the man continued, but her dad turned quickly and interrupted him.

“Why do you call her that? She hasn’t been called that since she was a little girl!” The vehemence in her dad’s voice startled Jean when disappearing furniture had had no effect. It didn’t seem to faze the tall dark man who had stalked them on the bus one bit.

“Her name is recorded in the rolls, the way all witches and wizards names are recorded once they demonstrate their magic. Hermione’s name has been there since just after she was born… she is a powerful witch, or will be once she learns to use her magic properly.”

The man, Sirius, spoke these words as though he were discussing yesterday’s weather. His tone was calming, yet he spoke with an authority that brooked no argument. It was as if he were trying to handle a troublesome dog. Jean shook that thought away, her full head of hair swishing to the side as her tired body copied her thoughts.

Mistaking her action, their host sighed rather dramatically. “Listen, I know you are overwhelmed, but denying what you are is not going to make it go away. As I said earlier, there are some very evil people out there who know who you are and want you dead. Their reasons are not important, but their abilities are. We fooled them with an illusion tonight, but by morning the papers will report that there were no bodies found in the ruins of the fire... and you will be hunted with renewed fervor. Voldemort has put his most trusted servant on your trail…” The dark look that passed over his face was only there for a moment, and Jean wasn’t sure what it meant, but it couldn’t be good. He continued in his reasonable, yet passionate voice; now that he had her attention he was a very convincing speaker.

“If you deny your abilities and choose not to learn how to use them, you will be defenseless when you eventually have to face these murderers. There are many people in this house and other safe houses around Britain that are just like you, though some of them are not as lucky as you two are. Some of them are orphans who only survived tonight because their magic saved them accidentally; the Death Eaters killed their families anyways. We are at war. Unfortunately, you don’t get to choose to sit it out, let alone choose a side. I’m sorry, I truly am. I have lost friends, family, my best mate… just try to get some rest.” The look on his face had grown gradually less controlled, taking on an almost fierce expression until the end, when his eyes blanked and his shoulders slumped. He silently closed the door behind him.

His sad tone upon concluding his speech made more of an impression than his words had. The Grangers stared at each other for just a moment before they slowly closed the gap and hugged. Before stepping into her dads arms she caught that look in his eyes. It was not fear, yet she couldn’t place that look… but she wouldn’t push right now. For now she just wanted to be held. They hadn't hugged like this since she was a little girl and right now all she wanted was to go back to when Daddy could fix anything and Mum...

A whimper escaped her unbidden and her dad began to rub her back and make shushing sounds, just like all those years ago.

They stayed, standing there, until there was a light knock at the door. Even then Jean just held on as her dad turned and opened the door. It was awkward but she simply didn't care. There was a quiet conversation and Jean felt a keen sense of loss as her dad pulled away, resting a rare kiss on her forehead.

“I am going to go get cleaned up, I'll be just down the hall, this lady has some clothes for you to sleep in.”

Finally looking up, Jean met the eyes of a gentle-eyed, yet very tired looking young woman wearing the same nurses uniform she remembered from her arrival. She immediately looked for a wand in the woman's hands, but found none. Instead the nurse held only a bundle of clothing. Her dad left with his bundle after giving assurances that he would return right away. The woman turned to go, then paused.

“You look like you're really scared but you shouldn't be. No matter what happens you are safe here. I... I heard, I'm really sorry about your mum.” The woman finished, her voice full of genuine grief, she turned away quickly.

Jean could see the young nurse was exhausted and felt bad for the suspicious way she knew she first reacted. “Thanks.” she croaked out, her voice raw with emotion and disuse.

Stopping half turned, the young nurse wiped at her eyes before replying. “If you need anything just come down to the kitchen. Someone will be there all night.” With that the nurse turned and closed the door behind her, leaving Jean standing numb in the stinky room.

As if jolted, Jean tossed her night-clothes on the bed and opened the door to find the nurse talking to a very small boy in the doorway across the hall. Jean watched the way the woman soothed the obviously distraught boy, finally taking a small bottle out of her apron and giving the boy a spoonful dose. She led the boy back into his room and shortly returned to the hall.

“Can I help you?” She asked, her smile seemingly forced, she looked close to tears.

“What did you give him?” Jean asked, her voice returning, though she realized too late that her question held all of the suspicion she felt. So much for masking her raw emotions. Her face likely betrayed her feelings as well, which would explain the way the nurse looked at her. She shook her head, now wasn't the time for analysis.

“It is a potion called Dreamless Sleep. With what he has gone through even the House magic can't keep him from having nightmares. Any other questions?” The woman had spoken pleasantly enough, but her whole demeanor declared just how tired, and frustrated, she really was.

“Sorry. I, I didn't mean, it's just...” Jean had no idea what to say. She really didn't know what she was thinking and felt really bad for her tone, as well as her suspicion.

The nurse smiled in return, this time it reached her eyes. “Don't worry about it. Just get some rest.”

“Sure, oh, the man... Sirius, he said you might be able to, well, the room stinks.” Jean couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Here she was asking a nurse to clean her room after she was rude to her for helping a little boy.

“Oh?” She stepped into the doorway, her nose instantly crinkling in the same way Jean's had. “Do you mind if I use magic? Sirius said you and your father were a bit wand-shy.”

“Please?” Jean agreed quickly. Having been in the hallway for just a minute had made the smell seem even worse upon re-entering the room.

Laughing, the nurse pulled a slender light colored wand from her sleeve and pointed it at a few places around the room, mostly under the beds. She seemed to repeat the same word each time, just under her breath, Jean thought it sounded like Latin. Intrigued, she was just getting ready to ask for details when her dad gave a startled gasp from the doorway.

“Please leave.” His tone was not quite hostile, but it was sharp enough that the young woman left quickly, giving Jean an apologetic look as she turned down the hall.

“She was just...”

“It's fine, I just want us to go to sleep so we can get an early start.” His voice was calm, reasonable even, but Jean knew he was upset.

Moving to the door, she gave her dad a small frown of apology. “I'll go get changed then.”

In the hall she found the nurse hadn't made it very far, this time she was down on one knee consoling a little girl. The child couldn't have been more than five, and though she wasn't crying, she did have a very tight grip on the helpful woman. Once again the solution seemed to be a few soothing words, a long hug, and a dose of the potion. When she came back out of the girl's room Jean smiled to show she wasn't upset with her.

“One potion cure-all?” She tried to joke.

The nurse gave a weak smile in return. “For tonight, yes.”

Intrigued, and tired of fighting with her restless mind, Jean pressed the woman for more. “What does it do, exactly?”

“It is basically just a sleeping draught. It causes the person to sleep without dreams for about eight hours, depending on dose.” She stopped, seeming to regard Jean more closely. “Do you... would you like some, just in case you, you know?”

Jean was about to protest as the nurse held out a small vial, but she was having a hard time trying to stop her mind from trying to sort through everything, and it was giving her a headache as well. She knew she would not likely sleep tonight with everything that had happened.

A small voice was heard down the hall and the woman turned, her face anxious. “This has barely a dose left, and I need to go. I'll talk to you tomorrow.” With that Jean found herself holding the small glass bottle as she watched the nurse stride quickly down the hall.

She regarded the 'potion' critically, then walked into the bathroom to change and get ready for bed.

. . .

Sirius stood with his back against the stove, the warmth of the oven working up his back and giving him some comfort from the aches that seemed to be coming from every fiber of his being. He listened carefully as the others gave their reports, his own battles detailed as best he could manage when he was sent home from St. Mungo's for the second time.

The pain potions had worn off shortly after he had left the Grangers. He flexed his right hand, his wand hand, and was happy to see he hadn't lost any flexibility, so far. It was a close thing, according to the healers.

He sighed, letting the latest report wash over him, traveling with them through their ordeal in his mind's eye.

The Night of Terror the muggles were calling it. How right they were.

. . .

Earlier that evening.

(On televisions across Great Britain news bulletins interrupted scheduled programming around 6:30 pm. A phone number flashed slowly at the bottom of the screen and then the picture switches to a somewhat startled looking young woman. She stands in a bright glaring light with the glow of two separate fires burning low in the background.)

“Mellissa Pembroke reporting live from Sutton where yet another series of deadly fires has been reported. Three homes within scant blocks of one another have burned quickly to the ground, and once again the ghastly fireworks have reportedly been seen above all three. Authorities say that they are not sure if the proximity of these homes is somehow important but the fact is that the police seem to have nothing more to go on; no link has been found to connect the over two dozen homes, businesses and apartments that have been torched this deadly Halloween eve.”

(Voice over) “Melissa, George here, we were wondering if the police were considering terrorism yet? It doesn't fit, uh… past incidents, and yet with so many attacks how can they still be considering vandals? Also, you mentioned the fireworks have been seen, did anyone manage to get a photo yet?”

“No, George, on all counts. The Police of course are remaining quiet on any detailed response at this time. I just spoke with the Metro Police commander on scene and he would only repeat his call for any information to be immediately reported to the number shown at the bottom of the screen. My sources privately confirm your statement about the inconsistencies with past attacks. Lastly although witnesses at each and every site give the same account of a huge, smoky snake writhing in a skull over the attacks, Polaroids taken by those on the scene are all coming up over-developed. I've heard reports of several regular cameras confiscated by police but no word on if their lab has had better luck than the Polaroids have...”

(Voice over fades into the studio as the on scene reporter is cut off)

“I’m sorry Melissa, we've just had another report, this one from the West End…”

The sound dies as the TV goes dark, the whole house in fact is plunged into shadows. Three people sit holding each other on a couch, their faces cast in stark relief by the faint streetlight coming through the window.

Behind them, in the hall, a small voice whimpers.

“Anna? What are you doing up?” A masculine voice echoes in the dark as a stocky man rises from the couch. A woman, his wife, rises with him, but another female, younger, the sister of Anna, sits and stares out the window.

She felt it too. “Hide, Anna!” She speaks quietly but urgently, and the parents turn to look at her with wide eyes.

“Abby hush! She’s scared enough with the dark and the…” Abby doesn’t listen, yelling over top of her mothers voice.

“Anna, it’s them from the fires on T.V. Go to yer room and get in the wall, do it Now!”

Anna doesn't move, at least not until the house shudders. Then all hell breaks loose.

It happens in slow motion to Anna, who watches from the darkened hall.

First are the cracking noises, loud, like fireworks, and suddenly there are five dark-cloaked figures standing in their living room. Words are yelled, at first by the new people, but then a horrible scream erupts from Dad and then Abby is screaming too. But Abby is screaming curse words, the worst words Anna has ever heard, and when she screams the cloaked people scream too! One of them flies across the room and smashes into the T.V. and Anna thinks she’ll miss Rugrats in the morning… then another man is doing something but Mum jumps… no she… oh…

Then Anna runs. She runs to her room, slips behind her closet door and pulls on the old metal door in a section of original stone wall. It opens with the slightest creak, Abby oiled it last week, and Anna pushes herself into the darkness. She scoots all the way down, into the place that smells musty and is rather cold but is the best hiding place in the house.

She stays there, shivering, long after the shouting. She stays as the air begins to smell like smoke. She stays, terrified and alone until a goblin ‘pops’ in next to her. It’s not the same kind of goblin as in that elf show she watched with Abby, but it has the big ears and it’s smaller than her so it must be a goblin. The goblin takes her shaking hand and she is not cold anymore. Just as she hears a strange creaking noise above her the goblin snaps his finger and they are in a new place! “There you are, miss, now go to sleep.” The goblin squeaks, and Anna goes to sleep.

.o0o.

The next day Jean awoke in a strange bed wearing strange clothes. The small room she found herself in was faintly lit by an old fashioned gas lamp turned almost all the way down. The faint smell of detergent was the first oddly-familiar thing she noticed. The scent was not quite masked by a fresh fragrance that one of the nurses had produced when she had come in to help her the night before. Produced by a wave of a wand. Produced by magic.

With that thought the whole night came crashing back and Jean practically jumped up to find herself alone. Her dad’s bed was made, the tight hospital corners showing that he had done the work himself as opposed to… well she had no idea if these beds made themselves; but that’s not what it looked like when they got here last night.

She glanced around the small quarters and found no indication of his belongings… and then she saw the plain cloth robe folded neatly at the foot of the bed, with a small scrap of old-looking paper tucked under it. Jean sat back down hard. She felt paralyzed, somehow knowing that she did not want to read that paper. A quick knock on the door shook her from her quiet terror and she stood quickly, snatching up the paper before turning to the door as the knock was repeated. “Who is it?”

“Hermione, it’s Sirius Black, may I come in?”

It was the man from last night. Had he come to tell her about her dad? She had no idea what time it was, though now that she thought about it she hadn’t slept that well in quite some time. What was that ‘potion’ the nurse had given them? “Dreamless Sleep”… it certainly was.

Glancing at her plain sleeping shift she decided to opt for modesty and slipped into her robe. The soft cloth seemed to warm her quickly in the cool room. “Come in.”

The disheveled man from the night before had been replaced by a dapper-dressed gentleman. He looked as if he had just stepped out of a Jane Austen novel, though she hardly thought him Mr. Darcy material. The look on his face however stopped her flight of fancy cold. It was about her dad for certain.

“I don’t know how to tell you this except to just come out with it. After you went to sleep your father came into the kitchen in a fit. He demanded to know what we had done to you as he could not seem to awaken you. It took awhile, however after some questioning we discovered that one of the healers had given you a potion to help you sleep. Your father was livid and made some pretty harsh comments. I finally silenced him to force him to listen to reason. He went completely still when he realized he could no longer speak. When I removed the hex he just turned and went back to your room. I tried speaking with him but it was like talking to a wall.

Hermione... Your father left early this morning. He is apparently a rather clever fellow because nobody thought to put a ward against someone sneaking out the third story window.”

The man’s tone was serious, upset even, yet Jean couldn't get past the image of her dad shimmying out a window in the middle of the night. What was he doing? He couldn't think… she didn't know what he would be thinking. There was that strange look he kept getting, and the note… The Note!

Turning her back on the man in the doorway, Jean read the note by the scant light coming from the hallway.

_“Jean, I will come back but I must get help, we are not going to be part of their war! These wizards may mean well but they cannot hold us against our will. I Will come back, just stay put and don’t go anywhere. Love, Dad”_

Her host interrupted any further thoughts on the subject. “He didn't fall, at least there is no sign of his having been injured on the grounds. I know this is a lot to take in but we have people out looking for him.”

It was a lot to take in. Her dad had run out, but she knew he would return. It wasn't what Sirius had said so much as what he had left unsaid. There would be others looking for him as well. Looking for him because of her. As bad as the night before had ended, today didn't look to be starting any better.

“There's nothing more you can do and I'm sure he'll be fine. Please, come downstairs and get some breakfast, you can meet some of the others.”

Her stomach loudly proclaimed her feelings about food before she could protest. Embarrassed, she tried to think of a reason to stay in the room and wait. She was dressed inappropriately, that seemed lame, and yet... Looking down at her robe, Jean didn’t have to explain her discomfort as Sirius spoke up. “I can help with the clothing. If you’d just think of what you’d like to be wearing and look at me please?”

A moment later Jean stood staring at herself in open mouthed shock. Disappearing chairs was a neat trick. Turning her pajamas and robe into trainers, socks, pants and a jumper was pretty darn impressive.

“Isn’t magic cool?” The grin on his face was clearly heard in his voice though Jean declined the offered arm as he led her downstairs to the kitchen. He chatted a bit about the house on the way down the stairs, but Jean’s attention was on the wonderful scents wafting up from below. She realized as her stomach spoke again that she had missed supper in the confusion of the previous night. They made their way into the kitchen, yet it was hardly the same room.

“We take our meals in here in shifts. This is the only room not converted into apartments or sleeping quarters. The house is magically expanded as it is, so expanding the rooms within can only be done safely to a limit.”

Jean nodded at the information, filing it away even as she took in the cutting board where three knives and a cleaver were dancing through a bin of potatoes. One entire wall was taken up by a vast array of containers. The colors and shapes of many of the objects were unknown to her, though there seemed to be a fair number of seeds, roots and flowers. And… eyes… wings… and legs? “Are those…”

“Yes,” Sirius cut in, “those are potion ingredients. Sorry, we had to move all the supplies up here. Don’t worry though, there’s a magical barrier in place to keep anything from getting in or out. The potion lab is still down stairs, I can show you later if you like.” Jean balked at the prospect, and he directed her to take a seat.

Sitting down at the table was a lot different from last night. Jean had to squeeze into a spot. It seemed as though a small army of kids were eating at the table… a table that had definitely not been this big last night. Then there was the food. Dishes of eggs and meats, potatoes in every form she had ever seen and breads, jams, rolls, pastries… the selection was boggling.

She began to reach for a bowl of eggs when it slid right to her hand. Freezing in place she saw a girl across from her smiling.

“You get what you want.” She said, matter-of-factly, then reached out her hand and an apple tart flew to her hand from a plate down at the end of the table. “Magic.” The girl grinned.

Jean couldn't help but grin back, and scooped up a heap of eggs from the bowl in front of her, smiling widely as she snatched the toast she had ‘ordered’ out of the air. Her stomach growled in approval.

“I’m Anna, are you the oldest one?”

The question caught Jean off guard. The girl appeared to be around five or six, and looking about the table she realized that she was obviously the oldest by at least a year of two, even though she was small for her age. Shrugging, Jean looked back to Anna. “Pleased to make your acquaintance Anna, my name is Jean. As to your question, I don’t actually know, I just got here last night.” Glancing over her shoulder she found Sirius had departed so she had no source for an answer anywhere in sight.

“All of us just got here last night silly.” The young girl stated in her no-nonsense way, and went back to eating her tart.

Jean didn’t know what else to say, or what was safe to ask, so she returned to her breakfast. Distracted by the swirl of questions and concerns that just seemed to be growing every moment, she only ate a few bites before some room opened up on the benches. As the kids around her finished and left the kitchen, their plates were floated to the sink by an older red headed woman that Jean remembered vaguely from last night.

The way all these children were sitting around so calmly, just eating, no horseplay or talking, kind of creeped Jean out. Then something occurred to her after the fourth or fifth small child quietly got up and left the room. Every one of these kids was eating without an adult. She suddenly lost her appetite as her worries echoed in her head.

Jean slammed the lid on the thoughts of what might be happening with her dad. 'I am not an orphan!' she declared to herself. The dark voice of doubt only added one word. 'Yet.'

Standing, she tried not to be wowed by her floating dishes. She caught the eye of the red head doing the… well, conducting the dish washing. She seemed to be frowning at Jean, and directed a sharp glance to her uneaten eggs and toast. Perhaps wasting food was a major no-no? There was food on some of the other kids’ plates. The woman cleared up the confusion quickly enough by coming over and introducing herself.

“Hello dear, I’m Molly and I’m sorry for whatever you've been through, but not eating is no way to keep your health and you will need your health and energy in the days to come… And if I may say you are such a small thing to start with, you can’t afford to skip any meals, so keep that in mind, ok? Alright dear, now run along.” The woman finished with a bright smile and bustled back to the dishes. Jean found that she somehow had a piece of toast in her hand.

The only thing that stuck in Jean’s mind was how the woman had said all of that in one breath. She was saved from stifling a smile by the sharp, barking laughter of her host. It seemed that Sirius had returned in time for, and was quite amused by Molly’s short speech.

“Molly, dear, don’t ever change!” Sirius barked out a harsh laugh and winked at Jean.

“Sirius Black, I am not your “dear”.” The woman’s abrupt response was only tempered slightly by her tone, not quite angry, but not exactly teasing either. “You take care of that little one or Minerva will skin you and make a rug out of your flea-bitten hide.” With that she turned to the table once more. The remaining children had dwindled until only a few of the more portly kids remained. Molly seemed to have decided that they had had enough as she shooed them from their unfinished plates. Wasting food was definitely not the issue.

“Lets escape while the gettings good.” Sirius mock whispered. His fake conspiratorial attitude was hard not to smile at. “I have it on good authority you will like the third stop of our tour, but first we have to make introductions.” Jean was already being guided out the back door.

.o0o.

Sirius stood in front of the crowd of children and a few adults. He tried to focus his thoughts on how these people were going to be alright. They would make it. As he looked over the remnants of several dozen different families he could not help but think of the dozens that they could not save.

.o0o.

It was surreal, as so much of the last day had been. Jean sat and watched as one by one the forty or so children and eight adults introduced themselves to the best of their abilities. None of them outright cried, although emotions were obviously high as one after another clearly stated that they lost their parents the night before. When Anna’s turn came she calmly announced that her sister had killed three of the ‘Death Eaters’ before they got her. Nobody cheered, and yet nobody cried either. Each of them were spared from the attack either by intervention of some sort or by their own accidental magic. Sirius merely guided them away from talking about killing, and towards how they were now safe.

When Jean’s turn arrived she actually felt somewhat guilty that her escape was not nearly as dramatic as many of theirs had been. This caused her to wonder once again what her dad was up to. She thought a moment about praying for him, but the revelations of magic had done nothing for her struggling faith. Jean haltingly spoke the plea anyways. Pride and logic were worthless when your dad was in danger.

When Sirius had insisted that she introduce herself as Hermione she balked. He reasoned that it was the name that had been magically recorded, an argument that didn't really impress her. When he pointed out he was named after the dog-star, and then methodically listed off over twenty-some ridiculous sounding names from his school years – interjecting choice commentary as he went – she relented.

“But just for this, I still want to be called Jean.” She had insisted.

None of the kids laughed at her name. Then again, none of the kids laughed at the unfortunate boy named Gropnik Hetepsabet...

After the bafflingly reserved introductory time, Sirius had introduced a few adults including three nurses, Molly Weasley and her son Bill (who many of the children seemed to know somehow). He then went over a few rules which mostly seemed to be about not going downstairs, staying out of the kitchen until meal time, what time meals were and not going downstairs.

Sirius had then escorted her on the ‘tour’. This consisted of the three common areas of the house: number one was the kitchen, two the garden out back, and three the massive library-turned-dormitory which had Jean wide eyed.

They were currently sitting in the library entry-way in one of the few remaining squashy chairs. He had turned Jean’s so she couldn’t see the books and she felt an almost overwhelming urge to stick her tongue out at him. She settled for giving him a glare that seemingly had no effect on his good cheer.

Sirius then explained that a vestige of the Black Family magic was in effect. “My family truly believed that old motto, ‘children should be seen, not heard’. They wove enchantments into the House Magic itself that keeps young ones from expressing themselves in more than polite requests. It’s not ideal, and certainly not helping them heal, but you only met one of the groups living here… we have eighty three people living in this house right now. The adults have been instructed not to get emotional around the children and as a precaution they are regularly hit with cheering charms. The real threat of accidental magic released by emotional outbursts makes this the default safe-house for the orphans and the younger, more unstable kids.”

Jean was somewhere between boggling at the sheer numbers mentioned, boggling at the idea of magical fields repressing emotions and being insulted at the insinuation his last comment made. “I’m not…”

Once again she was cut off, “I know you are not unstable, although you should ask McGonagall to tell you the stories of how many times your house was repaired before you get too peevish. She’s the reason you’re here - do you remember ever being visited by a witch?”

From the way Sirius asked the question Jean could tell he was only asking rhetorically; he was floored by her quick response.

“Of course I remember the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

Floored might be an understatement. If only she knew what an accomplishment she had achieved – Sirius Black sat before her gaping like a fish, opening and closing his mouth, unable to get words to form.

“Was I not supposed to remember that?” Jean tried to go for innocent in her reply, but ultimately that’s what snapped Sirius from his stupor. He easily read her false tone and realized that he had been played.

“You knew? You not only remember, but you knew you were supposed to forget?” His tone was actually kind of frightening to Jean. It wasn’t so much the accusation as the awe. This big powerful wizard seemed shaken by her revelation.

“Is that… a big deal?” This time she really was asking innocently, and not just a little fearfully.

“A big deal?” He smiled, then continued, “Hermione, it’s huge. It’s not been done before… Minerva McGonagall may dislike that spell, but she’s very much a stickler for following procedures.” The smile he gave her brought some relief to Jean’s fears, but his ominous words made her stop short of relaxing.

“Is that so, my Lord Black.” The voice from the hallway brought Sirius up short and he turned in his chair to find the witch being discussed staring at him rather pointedly. “And just what procedure am I supposed to have not stuck to?”

Standing abruptly, he motioned for the older woman to join them. As he turned back to Jean, Sirius’s expression went from chastised to predatory in a flash, and before the older witch could detect the change, the ‘Lord’ standing in front of Jean gave his answer in a cheery, sing-song voice. “Hermione Granger, I _would_ introduce you to the Professor who has intruded upon our conversation, but I don’t think that will be necessary, do you?” Shooting another wink at Jean, he turned back to his prey, his voice accusatory and yet still cheerful. “She remembers you, and even remembers that you tried to make her forget.”

“Both times.” Jean added, which only caused Sirius to whip back around, then return his stare to his new guest.

“Twice?” he seemed to inquire to either or both.

“Mm-hmm” was Jean’s answer. “I’m afraid so.” was McGonagall’s simultaneous, and much less enthusiastic reply.

Sirius only whistled in response. Then, with a spring in his step, he walked out of the room. “Seems you two have much to discuss. I have business to attend to, I’ll be back by supper.” Lord Black made a most un-Lordly exit from the company of ladies as he trotted down the hall, giggling.

With that the two witches were left staring at one another for a full thirty seconds before the elder one cleared her throat.

“Yes, well, let’s talk about these memories you have then, shall we?”

.o0o.

A/N: That's all, for now, we're already past the longest chapter thus far. I haven't heard any complaints about chapter size :)  
The bit of action is to make it clear how bad things are on the outside. The rest, and Hermione's decision, will come in the next chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks to those of you who have posted reviews of chapters 1-5, they keep me up on how you feel about the story, or if anyone's even out there reading :P
> 
> Chapter Seven is finished and on it's way... Very Soon :)


	7. The Return of Lord Voldemort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: WARNING: The following chapter delves into the T rating, with Violence the leading cause.
> 
> Besides the violence there will be some really sad stuff coming along, although for a change our heroine is not directly involve... much. Death Eaters are some of the worst examples of the human race. Their tactics reflect the fact that they use terror and murder as tools of their agenda.
> 
> Even some of the actions taken by the 'good guys' may seem questionable, all will be explained.
> 
> It is an unfortunate reality that I found myself doing a lot of flash-backs in this chapter. I will try to avoid such a heavy reliance upon them in the future.
> 
> Just be aware that I'm sure I'll be forced to make several edit sweeps, as this has not had the usual tender care of my Beta, Mylady Phoenix, or much of any feedback from my friends and family.
> 
> As always, Harry Potter et al belong to JK Rowling, with my thanks for letting me play with her toys.

Sunday, October 31st, 1993 (continued)

Throughout magical Britain families gathered around their Wizarding Wireless boxes. Doors were double-locked and floos were password protected. People shuddered as they realized they were taking the same measures they took when... nobody wanted to complete that thought.

The wireless had been broadcasting sightings of the Dark Mark all over Britain. Finally, around 6:30 pm, a ministry spokesman announced that the government had gone on emergency alert. All Aurors were called to immediate active duty and citizens were warned to be go home and stay there.

Just over one hour later another official alert breaks through the regular news reporting.

"This is a News Bulletin. The Minister for Magic, Cornelius Oswald Fudge, has been killed by a wizard claiming himself to be He-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named! In a lightning fast raid on Ministry offices, a group of wizards and witches forced their way into the atrium through the floo system. From there they killed or severely injured many of the senior staff, including the cold blooded murder of Minister Fudge as he tried valiantly to negotiate. The group all wore Death Eater paraphernalia and their leader was a grim, though younger looking man who we repeat, claimed himself to be none other than the Dark Lord himself! It is reported that the group left only moments before legendary wizard Albus Dumbledore arrived with a group ready for battle. They found only death and destruction."

"Again, this is a Wizarding Wireless News Bulletin, The Minister for Magic is dead. Fudge, 77, has been replaced as interim Minister by former head of the Aurors, Rufus Scrimgeour. The Ministry itself is on high alert and all Aurors are recalled to active duty. Around the country there have been reports of deaths and disappearances of muggleborns leading up to today. Then around 6 pm, open attacks upon homes up and down our great British Isles have been reported on the muggle news. The muggles themselves are apparently unable to record the Dark Mark that floats above these attacks with their primitive teknologee, but nearby magical folk have confirmed that they are in fact there."

"We go now to a special announcement given by the interim Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour. Minister?"

"I urge all people listening to my voice to remain calm. This attack was well planned, but cowardly.

The Unspeakables have briefed me on two very important details that all citizens need to know: Firstly, the man who calls himself Voldemort is one of two things: He is either an impostor or a shade. If he is an impostor then he's just another crackpot with an agenda and will be put down like the vermin he is. If this murderer is in fact a remnant of the man we fought not so long ago, then he is still a man. Yes, and what's more a half-blooded wizard as well! His name was Tom Marvolo Riddle and he was born of a muggle father and the destitute witch who seduced him. Tom was an exceptional student at Hogwarts but ultimately his thirst for power corrupted him. If this is indeed his shade, he will not be nearly as difficult to defeat this time around.

"The second thing that the Unspeakables have uncovered irrefutable proof that to gain the dark mark a person must rape, torture And murder an innocent. Willingly. They cannot be compelled, even by use of the Unforgivable Imperius Curse."

"Just so we're clear: There will be no quarter or mercy given to the twisted, murderous rabble calling themselves "Death Eaters". The only way a surrender will be accepted is if they do not bear the Mark.

That should make it an easy choice for those of you who hear this broadcast: before you flock to this mad man for some revenge or riches, know that he is not only Not a pureblood, but you are signing your own death warrant should you stain your soul in his service."

"People of Britain, do not lay down your wands. Do not cower in fright. When you see a Death Eater, kill him like the coward he is. That is all."

(silence)

"I... that is, was, that was very inspiring. Yes, Minister for Magic Scrimgeour has laid it all out there, you don't..."

(The broadcast continues through the night, incidents of violence continue to be reported, but only against muggleborns. Scrimgeour's speech is repeated every hour, on the hour, for three straight days.)

.o0o.

"You know," Tonks panted, sprinting up the hill, "Dumbledore has hundreds…" almost to the crest, "of those little guys…" She grunted to a stop as she dropped to her stomach, then went quiet. The young Auror and her partner remained silent for a moment, surveying the large stone cottage on the hillock. There was almost nothing to hide behind and the moss-covered rock they lay against gave proof that the Scottish Highlands are not a comfortable place to lay about at the end of October.

"What was your point?" Whispered the dark form laying next to her. His head slowly turned, eyes scanning, even looking behind them several times. He took in his partner's perfect Death Eater disguise and shuddered.

"Man, Moody really got to you, huh?" She grinned at his paranoia. "I was just thinking, since they get through these AA wards, it would have been nice to have one around, you know, a house elf?"

The quick flash of a grin was all Tonks got in answer before they both frowned. There was a noise, like a muffled 'pop', but not like an apparition, not even house-elven.

There it was again, they looked around, both returning their gaze towards the house. Then they felt the magic in the air shimmer as the ward suddenly fell.

"Didn't Diggory say the Death Eaters had just arrived?"

"Yeah…" her partner, Auror first class Robert 'Bob' Summers, was genuinely confused now. He didn't mind the chatter of the newbie, she did her job when the time came and it broke the monotony. Besides, her infiltration abilities were unmatched. "Guess you better do your thing."

Nymphadora Tonks slowly worked her way down and away from her partner. Staying to the shadows wasn't an option as the cottage was situated at the flattened 'peak' of the only rise in the area. Coming up the far side of the rise she strode boldly towards the front door, just as a Death Eater would. She admired the strategic location, though she dismissed the idea of muggles choosing it for such a reason. ' _Probably for the view_ …' was the thought in her head as she was blown off her feet backwards, tumbling head over heels down the hillside.

. . .

Not every battle had gone quite so poorly. Though that was a matter of perspective.

"Ava.."  
"CRU.."  
"BOMB.."  
"Sto.."  
"I.."  
"Ar.."

A pale witch dressed in dark lace, stood panting, arms hanging limply at her sides as she faced the small man before her.

He didn't seem to have exerted himself at all.

Around them lay the wreckage of an old farm house, several fires burned and the roof had collapsed in one corner. Their makeshift battleground was strewn with the remains of two dozen Death Eaters and four Aurors, but thankfully no sign of the former residents.

Only the two combatants remained.

"Bellatrix Lestrange, your reputation far exceeds… ahht aht ahhh… as I was saying, it far exceeds your actual capabilities."

An outside observer would have been astonished to watch the Hogwarts Charms Professor simply twitch his wand and literally slap Bella's spells away by slapping her in the face with a magical force. Even her attempts at silent and wandless casting were brushed aside. Or in the case of the first spell she cast silently, the blast of furnace-hot air she thought would blow away the tiny man had instead nearly cooked her where she stood.

He also quite refused to let her move about, she hadn't been able to move more than her wand tip since he caught her with a spell she did not recognize. Even the small action of a wand-jab took every ounce of concentration she could muster.

While most people considered Bellatrix to be quite insane, she was also well known to be quite a cunning and deadly duelist. Well, that's what everyone believed. She certainly had. Now she was losing badly to a squeaky little half-breed. Her blood fairly boiled with impotent rage.

"Listen, Mrs. Lestrange, I believe it will be time for you to run along to your Master soon, so I will have to make ask you to pay attention. Albus is rather looking forward to besting the his old student himself and he wanted you to give Riddle a message, personally."

It was she who now squeaked as her indignation at these insults made her eyes twitch and her ears turn a rather Weasley shade of red.

Redoubling her efforts, Bella threw her entire being into breaking free of the maddening hold the runt held her in. Smoke actually began to curl from her wand tip as she poured her magic directly into destroying whatever spell he had used, she was counting on the backlash giving her time to recover and held nothing back…

At first nothing happened, then, little by little, Bella could feel the magic coursing through her. She focused all her might on that feeling, the way it rushed from her body to that one point, she started to shake and her teeth chattered around the sickly triumphant smile as finally she wrenched herself free and whipped up her wand. She'd recover later, but now:

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" She screamed, actually tearing her vocal cords in the process of her venting her victorious rage.

. . .

In yet another battle that night:

"To your left!"

A grey bolt smoked through the air over the Auror as he fell prone. Spinning on his free hand and one knee he brought up his wand and released one, two… three spells in quick succession as his partner deflected and evaded the attacks of the Death Eater.

Across the room the black-robed murderer was forced back on the defensive. He shielded, moved out of the way and died, in that order.

Kingsley saluted the young man at the door and tossed a weak blasting hex through the doorway before rolling through into the kitchen. "Two dead here, one civy."

His tone was clipped and deliberate, no time for more as he quietly cast a revealing spell and once again dropped and rolled. His body was not impressed by all the dropping and rolling.

The burst of purple energy that the Death Eater had put through his recently vacated space would have made his body complain a lot more… if he had been hit. The Death Eater himself didn't appreciate the answering cutting curse that started at his mid-chest and left his right arm nearly severed.

The young Order member  _Stupefied_  the murderer from the doorway before the white-masked-man could react further. The large veteran leaned down and snatched the wand from the prone form. A quick search found the man's spare, both wands landed broken on the still man's chest. Neither of the 'good guys' bothered with their enemies wounds.

Instead they moved on silenced feet towards a closed doorway at the back corner of the kitchen.

Outside, the sounds of battle were done, which the pair counted on as being good news. If their partners had lost their battle then the two inside would already be as good as dead: the Death Eaters would have sealed the house and engulfed it in flames. Anti-Apparition wards were already in place and both had used up their three port-keys getting civy's to safety. They focused on what could be the next fight, the door in the corner.

If the Death Eaters knew they were trapped, they would not surrender, and would likely kill every prisoner they had. Even if they were the rare more-cowardly-than-psychotic variety of Death Eater, Rufus had made sure that surrender was a very unattractive proposition an hour ago.

Quickly recalling the layout thus far, the young man gestured with one hand: fingers walking down… Kingsley nodded, again whispering  _Homenum Revelio_. Looking downward at the three markers floating in front of him, the Auror passed his hand over them one by one. One glowed faintly, another brightly, the third not at all. The third seemed to be in front of the second. He released the spell and turned to his young partner.

Leaning together the two conferred in whispers. "D.E. using the muggle as a shield?" Inquired the younger man, whose red hair caught the light through the kitchen window. The Auror nodded, a sharp, urgent movement that demanded more.

"Open the door, banish his buddy through, follow with a flash-bang, then we both do area  _Torporous_  followed by…"

"That should do it," the older wizard spoke with a small laugh, "Remember, we've got to save our reserves."

The redhead nodded, his over-kill plan probably induced by the various cuts and bruises that fighting under powered most of the night had earned him. As well as way too many near death experiences for him to recall, especially for one short night.

A quick levitation spell put the fallen Death Eater in line for his fate. The younger wizard prepared the muggle device used by strike teams the world over. Kingsley cast a localized silence on the lock, then unlocked it with a jab of his wand. In all their actions took fifteen seconds from the beginning of planning to being ready-to-implement. Unfortunately, their enemy was not idle during that short time.

With a nod, the pair were readying for action when the door opened before the Auror had released the spell… first revealing a little boy with a tear-stained face. The Death Eater standing behind and a few steps below the boy was just as surprised as the other two adults, but the boy put it all into perspective when he saw the prone form by the stove. Once again, things happened rather quickly after that.

.o0o.

(Some time the next morning)

Bill shook himself, physically and mentally from reliving the fight, as Molly nudged him gently on the shoulder. "Bill... the kids."

Looking around he found himself the center of attention. He saw quite a few faces in the crowd that he knew were 'his'. By ones and twos he picked out the faces of children, and in one case parents too, who he had helped live through last night. Each one of them seemed so precious now. He thought about them instead of the ghosts that likely lingered where he was too late.

"Bill..." His mother again.

"Yes, mum?"

"Say hello, you've been introduced." She admonished, but her words were filled with worry instead of reproach.

' _Oh_.' He thought. "Oh. Hello." He smiled sheepishly. "I'm Bill Weasley, I, uh, well keep watch on the place for Lord Black."

The fact that both Molly and Sirius snorted at his use of the title of the scion of House Black was not missed by many. As loud as the two snorts combined were, only the truly distraught could have missed it. Even they were hard pressed to miss the chuckles that swept the crowd as both adults looked at each other with grins. Bill was just happy to see his mum smiling again. Finally.

The Weasley male turned to see the eldest 'child' of their group staring off, lost in thought. Dark thoughts by the look on her face. She appeared to be old enough that she should have been at one of the safe houses with schools. He knew there was a story there, that Sirius and Minerva had both taken an interest in her, but didn't know more.

He wondered, briefly, if she had any siblings. She reminded him, the way she stared dully at nothing, of another girl he'd seen last night. Before he could stop it the memory he had just been shaken from, came back with a remembered scream.

.o0o.

"Daddy!"  
"Avada…"  
"Depulso!"  
"Get Do…  
The battle took three seconds.

"Daddy!" The child stood in front of the Death Eater and screamed at his father's still form, just to the side of the doorway.  
The wand of the Death Eater began to glow green.  
The still-masked body of his fallen comrade slammed into his shoulder.  
And Bill Weasley pulled his third feat of dual casting of the night, wandlessly summoning the boy while attempting to disarm the killer in the doorway.

Between the boy being torn from his free hand, the body hitting his shoulder and his wand  _almost_  leaping from his hand, the killing curse never quite finished.

The first time he tried.

The second time he began the Unforgivable curse both wizards of the Light stopped holding back.

Bill stunned the boy shortly thereafter. They found the body of his twelve year old sister, the muggle-born witch the Death Eaters had come to kill, at the bottom of the stairs.

Signaling with short message charms, the team began to clear out signs of the magical struggle.

They left no bodies of friend, foe or victim. It would be up to the healers and obliviators to decide the boy's fate.

The team healed up, took some nourishment and left for their next assignment.

The mission was a success in that they had lost none of their team.  
It was a success in that they killed four and captured one Death Eater.  
It was a success in that they saved a life.  
They dared not think of anything else.

.o0o.

With those thoughts Bill again looked around the room full of children and a very few parents. It was going on nine in the morning. What would they do if the Death Eaters attacked again tonight?

.o0o.

(The night before)

The Headmaster stood against one of the remaining solid walls, cloaked not in magic, but natural shadows. He had long ago learned that to trust in magic led to being betrayed by it. One had to keep ones wits sharp as well. Watching his oldest friend goad and taunt the formidable witch had been quite a wake-up call. If one of Voldemort's most powerful followers could be bested by Filius's invention, it was a great step towards the end of this "Voldemort's return".

Looking about at the carnage, he only wished he could have arrived earlier.

Then the true power of the most feared witch in Britain seemed to come to bear as she snapped her invisible bonds and literally screamed the most feared curse of all.

But no Killing Curse formed to fulfill her monumental act of magical power. In fact, nothing happened at all.

Well, except for the small man clapping his hands and squeaking out: "It worked!"

"Well done, most impressive my old friend!" Albus stepped out from his concealment. "It is rather demanding in setup and timing, but the results are beyond refute." The aged Headmaster turned to the re-paralyzed Death Eater. "Now, let us have that useless stick of yours, hmm?"

The question was of course less a request and more of a flowery way of disarming the one-time powerful witch.

"Now, Bella, I can see that you do indeed believe this to be your risen Master. I believe the message I would like you to deliver to your half-blooded psychotic 'lord' is this: 'If you are in fact Tom Riddle, I will leave you wishing your could share my fate.' Repeat the words, Bellatrix." The old wizard spoke low and calm, as he floated the broken halves of Bella's wand back to her, tucking one behind each of her ears. She repeated the message word for word, even using Dumbledore's speech inflections. "Good. You will deliver that message, and then you will release what you have been holding back."

Professor Flitwick physically recoiled as the elder mage forced his spell work into the mind of the defeated witch.

With that Bella found herself involuntarily reaching up to her choker and grasping the small red stone – her emergency portkey. At first nothing happened, and then, with a sickening pain in her stomach, Bella realized why when Dumbledore looked back at her and spoke. "Oh, and you may go now." And it activated.

The wizards each departed for separate destinations, Filius to Auror headquarters for another team assignment and Albus to Order Headquarters to get an update. Neither of them reported on their accomplishment.

.o0o.

Auror Summers reviewed his report one last time before tossing it into the "to process" tray. He didn't even notice as each page seemed to melt out of the box, appearing in some clerks tray on another floor in the Ministry.

Stretching as he stood, he wondered if his partner was as sore this morning as he was.

He remembered how tough she tried to be as she laid there and demanded the story after she got 'hit'.

He remembered the shock he felt as she tumbled at least half a quidditch pitch before she came to a stop. Just about stopped his heart, too.

. . .

"Merlin!" Bob swore as the blast ripped through the silence of the night. He counted on the enemy not having a fix on his position and sent up a modification of the  _lumos maximus_  spell, the delayed effect not bursting into light until it reached twenty feet away from him. By the time it went off he had apparated to Tonks and then took both of them to the rally point at the base of the hill behind the only bush big enough to offer cover.

Laying her down, the veteran officer noted there was no blood, but that Tonks had reverted to her normal form. Easily tearing through the remains of her Junior Auror robe, he found the reason for the lack of blood: a strangely bumpy dragon-hide vest. A check of her pulse confirmed that inside that vest was a very lucky young woman, lucky to be alive. Then the experienced Auror noted something about the blast around her armored chest. There were dozens of small pellets embedded in the magically tough hide. He hadn't been around this long not to know a Muggle weapon. But it did take all of the clues before he realized Tonks hadn't been cursed, she'd been  _shot_!

Concentrating, the Auror whispered a quick phrase and then quickly put a proximity alarm. That done he cast the status charm and sighed in relief as he passed his wand over his partner's head. Just unconscious… oh, as he reached her mid-section he revised his plan to tickle the woman to wakefulness… unconscious with four broken ribs. Ouch.  _Impedimenta_ , he whispered, keeping her from further harm while he repositioned her petrified form deeper into the brush.

Bob settled in to wait, occasionally recasting the status charm to keep tabs on his beat-up partner. It was around ten minutes later when a shrill bird call to his left brought him low and wand out. He gave a quick hoot and waited. The hoot was returned and Bob began to make out the fuzzy outline of three disillusioned figures as the entered his ward perimeter. Once they were about ten feet away he gave the challenge from his covered position. "Constant…"

"Moody's mantra," came back through the darkness. "SITREP?" The old Auror himself asked as the three newcomers crowded in and settled behind the natural blind. ' _Too bad she missed this, Tonks would have laughed herself silly watching Moody give his own pass-code. "Sitrep indeed"._ ' His thoughts might have been light, but his face was impassive as he listed off his 'situation report' even as he was thinking. ' _Where does he come up with these terms?_ '

"There appears to be a muggle holed up in the cottage, I believe he killed the DE that cast the AA ward just as we were making our initial survey, as that's when we felt the ward drop. We weren't here long enough to gather any other info before the sounds, which I now realize were small arms fire. Tonks was… disguised as a DE and circled around from my position to approach the house and try to get invited in as we have been doing all night. That's when the bastard shot her, bird shot, heavy gauge shotgun to the chest." All four looked towards the immobilized form in the brush. "Vest saved her life, four broken ribs and a concussion, but she'll live."

"So… why are we here?" This from a dark haired youth, still crouched next to Moody. The third fellow was busy keeping lookout.

"Diggory reported that one or both of the Lestrange brothers was with the group. They've taken to wearing those blood red stripes on their robes, like rank, and they were reportedly only worn by the inner-circle. Additionally the brothers are the only known inner-circle members who hunt in the same group. Diggory reported seeing two DE's with red stripes on their robes arrive."

"Good Intel Summers, action plan?" The retired Auror commended then demanded.

Bob hesitated, thinking things over, but the younger Auror didn't hold back.

"If a muggle shot Tonks for wearing the DE's getup, I say we post a lookout and wait till tomorrow. We need every able body out there, it's still happening." His voice was passionate, and they all knew he was right, at least about the last part.

"But if either of the Lestranges are still alive, we have to capture them alive… they could be an intel gold mine. Besides, with as many attacks as are happening there has to be a very organized plan, a plan with a schedule to it. When they don't return, this will be a high-priority target." Bob finished, his tone thoughtful, trying to see any flaws in his own logic.

"Bellatrix or Voldemort will certainly show." Moody agreed.

To his credit, Auror Summers didn't shudder at the name.

"Bob, Justin and I will remain on post.  _Portus_. Ethan you take Tonks to St. Mungo's and find Healer Price when you get there. Don't let anyone else do anything to her. Tell her "patch her up for Moody" and you two should be able to get back for the fireworks. While you're at it repeat the alert to Dumbledore. He's almost constantly in motion though and these message charms aren't any good at tracking folks so send an owl to Order HQ, he'll check in there. And you keep a watch on her until Price is done; I don't want some Death Eater scum in disguise taking out our best covert agent while she's unconscious.

Ethan arrived at St. Mungo's at a quarter past nine pm. He left with a somewhat groggy Auror Tonks at a quarter to eleven pm.

. . .

Elsewhere, things had again been going a little better for the Light side.

"Get out! It's Dumbledore!" The Death Eater screamed, sprinting back out of the doorway he'd just entered.

"No. No. Not you either." The old man's voice rang clear in the night, with each word another Death Eater was yanked from their feet and came flying awkwardly back into the small house.

The three would-be murderers didn't make it to the ward line they had erected. They joined their companions, the first two to enter, which had found Dumbledore in their target house. All were now entombed in their own robes. They were obviously alive by the way they all continued to squirm after the old wizard had left. Within moments a house elf popped in and then away with them one by one.

. . .

Back on that hill, again.

Tonks fell asleep and the others let her, even providing a cushioning charm under her. Then a warming charm and a small silence spell to let her rest up.

An hour later the group, including a much restored Tonks, moved up the hill. Somehow, though rather haggard, Albus Dumbledore was still chipper as he announced that he had "just the thing" and began weaving a spell.

Soon the group was standing in a mist that the headmaster had created, though Moody could see perfectly into the stone-built home.

He quietly murmured his report: "Three moving, two with big guns. One looks to be tied to a chair. Two… no, there they are, four bodies stacked two on two, blocking the back door. I'd say they must have drank more coffee than we did." The grizzled veteran finished his report with a snort.

"Coffee?" inquired the headmaster.

"Ran outta pepper-ups five hours ago," the old Auror replied. "Some of the new crowd swear by the muggle stuff... and with the night we're having, we've made do."

The twinkle returned briefly to the aged eyes of the greatest wizard of the age before he returned a speculative look at the house. He seemed to be thinking for some time and the motley group stood tiredly around him in complete silence... the expectation clear on every face but Moody's.

Then Albus Dumbledore did what the rest of them were kind of hoping he would. He got them their prisoner and nobody got hurt. Taking a small gold flute from one of his myriad pockets, her asked the rest of them to slip down the hill a ways until they only heard the echo of the song.

They immediately complied, although Ethan and Tonks both cast reluctant glances in the direction of the cottage, even though Tonks needed Ethan's arm to navigate down the hillside. Soon they heard a gentle tune and only felt the slightest urge to lay down right there on the hill. Of course after the night they had just had, this was more than enough to cause a mighty struggle for the minute or so Albus played.

Popping down to them, Albus turned to Ethan, "Take miss Tonks back to St. Mungo's and have them look at her lower back. She didn't tell them about the pain, and I'm afraid she will regret that for at least a week if untreated."

The look Tonks gave the old wizard was a mix of disbelief and embarrassment. She didn't have any protest when the young Auror took her arm. Together they disappeared with a crack.

Turning to the remaining three, the Headmaster smiled, his eyes alight in the scant moonlight. "We have succeeded, if nothing else this night, in crippling the madman's inner circle. Good work, now get some rest. It is over, for tonight."

. . .

Once back at Headquarters, Albus presented Sirius Black with their first high-profile prisoner for their newly renovated 'holding cells'. In the wizened wizards hand he held a life-like doll of none other than Rabastan Lestrange.

.o0o.

Professor McGonagall tried to calm her nerves. Again. She was back at the castle and could not wait to finish her morning class to go see the survivors at 12 Grimauld Place, one witch in particular. She had to stop at St. Mungo's on the way though, to check on that reckless boy. The only one of her team that had survived the night.

Her mind drifted once again to her last battle of that horrible night.

. . .

Minerva shielded quickly, then flicked her wand and shielded again. A marble flew from her hand and expanded into a slab of granite, blocking the Killing Curse. The results of her first wand flick bore fruit as the debris-turned-scorpions swarmed and distracted both of the cowardly killers hiding at either end of the wall. She promptly turned their defensive position to mud and then back to brick in a pair of seconds, turning away from the rather unpleasant results.

Creating a portkey, she returned the downed Auror to St. Mungos. Returned, because the brash young man had come back after losing sight in one eye and, well, it was a terrible curse, yet he came back. He'd almost died with the rest of his unit, but his presence had also likely saved her life.

She had activated the emergency portkeys of her fallen comrades next, not wanting to leave their bodies to the possible return of, well, not wanting to leave them. Transfiguring the dead was less taxing, since she had no care for their surviving the process, and in minutes the scene had no direct evidence of the magical combatants. The Ministry clean-up crews were not equipped to handle three battles in a day, let alone thirty per hour for... she glanced at her thin watch. "Gracious God, six hours?"

Sighing aloud, Minerva turned away from the carnage of the first floor, feeling weary to her bones. The creation of a portkey was no small bit of magic and the elderly professor was starting to realize her fighting days may well be behind her.

She certainly felt her age, and then some, as she climbed the stairs. That weariness was much alleviated when she found the family safe behind the couch.

"Alright, lets get gone before another batch show themselves, shall we?"

Herding the group together like a bunch of first years it never occurred to her that they would not obey. Perhaps it was that supreme attitude of confidence that caused them to do just what she said. She placed each of their hands on the small rope and activated the enchanted item. They would be taken care of at the safe house, and with any luck this house of theirs would still be standing when it was all over. She wouldn't take odds on that though...

With another, shorter sigh, Minerva glanced about the nicely decorated den, pausing to look over the pictures on the wall. Five family members pictured, five family members portkeyed away. One entire family, whole and uninjured. That was her high point of the night. They hadn't even witnessed any of the fighting. She doubted the obliviators would have much trouble and that was another reason for celebration. She tallied them one by one, holding each victory as precious and specifically denying herself any time to dwell on the failures.

With a flick she transformed the dozen or so pictures into an album and tucked it into her pocket. The house might not be standing, but the family was, and she could at least save their pictures. Smiling thinly, the Gryffindor lioness disappeared with a crack.

.o0o.

(A tall dark haired man looks around, holding his hand to his ear. Turning to look straight into the camera, he begins to speak. The scene behind him shows a large building on fire.)

"Charles Simmons on the scene of yet another massive fire tonight as the world now watches in horror along with the people of Great Britain. The apartment building behind me is a total loss as you can see. The only good news is that, as it came on the heels of so many other disasters on this terrible night, the response time for evacuation was as good as could be hoped for. Only one family – certainly the original targets – is confirmed to have been lost to the blaze. Many were taken to local hospitals for smoke inhalation, however there have been no other fatalities reported. This is Charles Simmons live from Wood Green, back to Jim Benson in the studio."

(The scene returns to the studio where a stately looking man looks up, his face solemn and drawn in exhaustion.)

"To cover again our main story, police are baffled to find any link between any of the victims one to another. Analysts report that the targeted victims seem to come from almost all possible political, economic and regional backgrounds as well as a broad… hold on please."

(The reporter seems to be listening to something, he nods and then a sheet of paper is slipped on to the counter before him.)

"OneNews has in fact made a connection, the one thing that ties all of these targeted victims together, and I'll beg you to wait just one moment for that revelation, because OneNews has uncovered another, perhaps more sinister happening which has been overridden in the news by the tragic fires.

"Members of the press from around the country have discovered that there has been a massive campaign of kidnapping across our land. Many families throughout Britain have been confirmed to have gone missing without a trace. Worst cases have found signs of a struggle at the residences and in some cases evidence of violence but still others cases have left no clues at all. Vehicles and personal belongings remain and yet whole families are just gone. The bizarre cases of missing people now total one hundred eighty three at this time. Now I mentioned the tie that binds those who were attacked? It is the very same tie that binds these missing families. Yes, that's right, families. In every single case, without exception, those attacked and those 'vanished' include children between the ages of infants up to early teens. We have no further information, and of course we gave this information to the authorities as soon as it became verifiable. Unfortunately is sheds less light than confusion.

(The reporter seems to be lost for a moment, shakes his head and sighs. He is obviously disheartened.)

"Going back to the attacks, we've received updated numbers, the grim tally at this time is one hundred forty seven known dead, including fire fighters and others who tried to save the victims. The number injured is expected to be closer to four hundred.

"The police have now stated that a terrorist group is being blamed for these attacks, but no one has stepped forward to lay claim. In related news, the IRA released a public statement denying any involvement and furthermore claiming that any information they discover would be given to the authorities."

The TV is turned off by a large, scruffy looking man in a waist-coat and tails. He scurries to close the cabinet which houses the old-fashioned console style television. He locks the cabinet with an elaborate, old-fashioned skeleton key (though most do not glow when used as this does). Once this act is complete he walks as quickly as he can without running to pick up a tray and stand still beside an ornate high-backed dark-wooden chair. At no time does he look at the man seated in the throne-like chair.

The occupant of the ornate seat release a sigh, a sound easily recognized as resigned acceptance by millions of children with a cough or cold. Taking a glass from the tray, it is not a child but rather an elegantly dressed man which reluctantly sniffs at the grey-green substance and then quickly tosses it back, swallowing the contents.

Giving an involuntary shudder, the drinker suppresses any noise, closing his oddly shaped eyes in the effort.

The servant has already poured a glass of water and presents it. The man, who appears almost aristocratic in his bearing and dress, accepts the drink with a gracious nod of his head, though he has not yet opened his eyes.

Seated on a throne, attended by a servant, this is the picture of a some sort of minor lord or elite gentleman. However the lord of this domain would be hard to describe as a typical gentleman. His sallow complexion and somewhat sunken, hollow-cheeked appearance causes an overall effect that emphasizes the man's skull. (It also makes guessing his age a hazard.) Then of course there are his eyes. For when he opens them to look at his servant, the dull red is not just the color of his iris, it is in fact the color of his entire eye. It is also noteworthy that his servant, a man who has been with him constantly for some time now, quickly looks away from his Master's gaze.

If this bothers his Master, it does not show on his emotionless features. Setting the empty goblet on the tray, the man speaks, and like his face, it is not a voice one would describe as… gentlemanly.

"Peter… tell Bella to come in now." The lord rasps to his servant.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well, there we have it. The battles were short, pitched affairs for the most part.
> 
> Thanks to all of you who have reviewed chapters 1-6, I truly do appreciate it!
> 
> Chapter 8 will be up tomorrow, actually I'll be posting a chapter a night until I release Chapter 10, the last that I have written. Then I Realllly have to get the next phase in the story done!
> 
> Blessings,  
> Majerus


	8. All it takes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The muse was finally active again, but her words were not flowing as heavily, so a couple chapters are coming, but this one at least is a bit short.
> 
> Beta'd, thankfully, by Mylady Phoenix, Owned, sadly, not by me.

 

Monday, November 1st, 1993 (continued)

“Hermione,” the woman paused, hearing the slight sigh the girl let out at her name. “I'm sorry, it's a beautiful name, but I...”

“No, it's not that.” ' _Well, that's not the important bit_ ,' she thought, grimacing. “When can we talk about what's being done to find my father?”

Minerva sat back in the chair. She wanted to find out more about the young witch's remarkable ability to overcome – no – _ignore_ the memory charm that had been cast upon her. Still, perhaps... “I know they asked if you knew any place he would go, but has anything else come to mind from last night, anything he may have said, even in passing?”

The look of concentration was obvious as the young woman worried her bottom lip between her teeth. Hermione methodically recalled the night before, detail by detail, all in perfect clarity until she had taken that damnable potion.

Then everything began to turn fuzzy, as though she was looking through a bit of fog just in front of her eyes.

' _...all it takes..._ ' Taking a sharp breath, the younger witch stared at the elder. Closing her eyes, she began to dig at that memory. The effort was so frustrating, she _Never_ had this much trouble remembering things! She was _Never_ going to take another potion as long as she lived!

It was right there, right in her grasp, she remembered that she was feeling droopy, sitting on her small bed in the small room; after all the ' _nevermind that_ ' her dad was telling her _something_...

. . .  
  


“Remember when you were a little girl, when you saw me in my uniform?”

Jean sat up a bit, the memory not exactly sluggish, but oddly... fuzzy... in her usually clear mind. “Yes daddy,” she answered in what sounded to her like a small voice.

“Do you remember how upset you were when you found out I was going to be gone, and I told you why I had to go?”

The memory seemed to waver, but the stab of remembered fear brought a surge of clarity to her mind. “Yes, daddy. You told me about the Light and the Dark.” The memory of that talk was sharp now, and the logical conclusions she was drawing made that remembered fear spark anew, but her thoughts were interrupted as he resumed speaking.

“That's right, the Light, and the Dark, and the Grey.”

And as if she were on a long slide, Jean found herself plummeting into the memory of her barely 2 ½-year-old self, staring up at her dad, even though she was in his lap. The crisp Naval uniform so new and different, yet his smile was just as warm, and it reached his eyes, which is why she loved him so. He was telling her the story of the Light, the Dark, and the Grey, where once upon a time, so very long ago that man has lost track of when, there was a time of Light when people lived without anger or pain. They did not call names or hurt one another, they were content and at peace. There was a Darkness, a place which the dwellers of the Light did not go, but it was separated, and no one had any desire to go there.

Then came the Grey, and those who, though they dwelt in the Light, were somehow farther away from the Light, saw the Grey first. The Dark still seemed far away, yet somehow the Grey gradually drew nearer. And in the Grey they saw movement. Shapes twirled and danced and enticed and were calling to them to move a little closer. They were not leaving the light, they were not entering the Dark. They were just... looking at the Grey.

Little by little some of the people moved out of the Light and into the Grey, closer and closer to the Dark, until some could not tell the difference any longer. The others, those still in the Light, were not blind; they could see what the Grey was doing. For those in the Grey were now afraid of the Light. And in the Grey, people used hurtful words and fought and refused to help one another.

Still most people just stood by. And some in the Light turned away and others looked down upon the others and called them 'lost'.

Hermione took these words in with comprehension. Her dad marvelled at his daughter's intellect, but he did not question it and certainly didn't fight it. He spoke to his two and a half year old child this way because he knew he may never have another chance to teach this lesson. “Hermione, you must remember, all it takes for the Dark to win is for good men to do nothing."

. . .  
  


As if surfacing from a depth, Hermione sucked in a deep breath. She let it out as an anguished moan, the memories merging and overlapping, her head pounding with the exertion and her heart with pain. The last words of that memory, as she fought desperately to stay awake, finally made her tears fall:

“If I do not return, it is because I cannot 'do nothing'.”

Worse, though she understood the words and she understood his motivation and knew he would do all he could, she still did not know what he may be doing to fulfill his promise.

Looking into the eyes of the woman across from her, she gave voice to her painful thoughts. “He thinks he must do something. He cannot sit by and wait... but I don't know... I don't know what he would do. What would he do?” She still had no idea where her dad had gone or if he was safe. Lost in that helplessness, she wept bitter tears, not even noticing when she was scooped into the arms of the older witch.

. . .  
  


Sirius Black arrived at his family home with a sigh that was part relief and part exhaustion. He had checked in with the other safe houses and ensured all were well supplied. Operating under the notice of the Ministry was expensive and difficult – it required obtaining even basic supplies in round-about ways because of the quantities. It was common knowledge that the Ministry was infiltrated by, well, by whoever it was that had finally declared open war last night.

But that wasn't exactly right. No 'real wizards or witches' were hurt. Just the muggleborns. That was a common enough sentiment among purebloods, and even spoken of in the wizengamot. Another sigh forced its way out of his throat as he stepped onto the steep stair to his ancestral home.

Walking in the front door he was greeted by the only child who seemed able to overcome the heavy magical restrictions of the House of Black. Anna bounded up to him and gave him a hug, then asked, in her typical, direct approach, “Where have you been?”

“Out, why aren't you outside playing with the others?”

“I wanted to play with Herminny but she was crying on the old lady in the lib-ary.”

Frowning, Sirius shooed the oddly exuberant child toward the backyard and turned down the hall to the library. As he approached the door he could hear quiet sobbing. Stopping in his tracks, the grown man grimaced his discomfort. Consoling a grieving girl was hardly his strong suit. A series of small sounds reached his ears and his grimace shifted to a look of disbelief. Edging down the hall he peeked around the corner into the library.

There, half turned from him, was the stately form of Professor Minerva McGonagall with a young woman curled in her lap. The normally reserved older woman was murmuring some sort of tune full of brogues as she rocked her charge gently back and forth. Sirius couldn't make out much about the girl, since her massively bushy curls obscured much of her form as they fanned out over her hunched-over body. He only needed to take that glance to decide on beating a quiet retreat, not sure whether he could even use the scene to tease the old Professor because of its tenderness. ' _Merlin, I'm going soft!_ ' Sirius mused to himself as he went in search of a late breakfast.

. . .  
  


It was some minutes later that Hermione realized that she was wrapped in the arms of another near-stranger, another older woman upon whom she was crying her eyes out. Crying as she had not allowed herself to with her own mother.

Shaking away the new but still melancholy thought, the young woman looked up at the Professor she had thought so stern, and yet offered ready comfort. “I'm sorry.”

Smiling kindly, Professor McGonagall offered her an embroidered kerchief. The move was eerily similar to that of Sarah, the woman who had held her as she cried at the bus stop, and a moment passed as Hermione just stared at the pretty cloth.

Mistaking the girl's hesitation, Minerva spoke, “Tosh, there's no reason for apologies,” voice choked with her own restrained emotions. “Ye've had a lot of hurts piled on ye one on t'other in a short time, lass.” She let the girl right herself and offered the kerchief again.

Taking the cloth with tired hands, Hermione cleaned herself up mechanically. Her mind was numb, she could not stop the thoughts that were whirring through her mind. Eventually it was the silence that broke the cycle. She looked up to see the professor staring at the floor, her long fingers picking at hem of her robes.

Realizing that she had to get control or she'd just go on crying all day, Hermione tucked her legs under herself as she leaned back in her own plush chair. This seemed to allow the older woman to settle back into her seat, their eyes meeting with a mutual understanding of helplessness.

“Let's...” she cleared her throat, swallowing the lump that had formed, “what did you want to know about my memories?”

 

.o0o.  
  


There was not even a wisp of smoke, though ashes seemed to swirl in blackened remains at the edge of the property. Muted sounds came from within the ruin, as though the half walls and collapsed sections of roof were settling. Then a cough broke the early morning silence, though it too was restrained.

A man, dressed in ash-blackened, wet clothing, was using a prybar to dislodge a section of wall. He worked carefully, mindful of the jagged edges of charred wood. Though he seemed nervous, as he was looking around quite often, the man worked methodically, going from crack to joint to crease and gradually the blackened, leaning wall slowly came down with a dull, “squish-thump” sound.

Stopping to wipe his brow, the man cast another worried glance around. The outer walls had not been burned completely, so he was somewhat sheltered from view from the outside. Still, he had reason to fear: last night his house was set alight on purpose and those that did it had wanted him and his little girl to have been inside! If they had found out otherwise...

He had been warned about all of this, he knew it was dangerous. And yet he could not abide by sitting still and doing nothing, not again.

For months... Years he had sat by and watched his wife slip away in fits and starts of agony and drug-addled 'peace'.

The thought of sitting in that old, decrepit house, listening to the whispers of how many families had been killed for... for how long? How long until they were discovered in that ancient fire trap? He could see the fear in the eyes of the nurses. He wouldn't go through that kind waiting, this time waiting until death came for his daughter.

So he had spent hours scouring that magically huge manor while people slept in rows of bunk-beds. On the third floor he finally found an open window.

They had drugged his little girl, of that he was certain, so he had had to go alone. He'd slipped out of the window onto the ornate edge of an outside decoration and found it solid enough. From there he'd made it to ground with nothing more than a few scrapes and bruises and begun his way through the cold night to his home.

Initially Daniel had approached his street with the idea of slipping into his ruined home under the cover of darkness, but then those warnings had seemed to get louder in his mind as he approached through the neighbor's small back yard.

Despair had filled him at the sight of it. The dream that he and his wife had been saving for. Had poured years of work into. The place they had planned to leave to their daughter some day. The place where instead, his wife had slowly died.

The initial shock at seeing that his house was truly gone shook him from his reckless zeal, his tired and impatient mind finally giving over to caution.

So he had waited, crouching in the bushes. Watching the remains for an hour in the darkness of pre-dawn for some sign that it was being watched, that he might be walking into a trap – and he saw no such sign. Still, he had spent another agonizing half hour moving quietly along the shrubs, up to the wide open back door; carefully stepping through what had been his living room and into the corner of what had just yesterday been his sanctuary, the den.

Finally he had found the right place, though an interior wall had collapsed upon his prize. The cold, wet, difficult work had brought the sun fully up, though it was hidden behind leaden clouds. Still, every move had been cautious, quiet, careful.

Hours later, after straddling that line between hard, physical work and desperation to remain unheard, he was stopped cold. Standing ankle deep in the slurry of wet ash and the ruined remains of his life, Daniel Granger tried not to focus on the bit of china he had just uncovered; tried, and failed.

His memories came unbidden, of him and his young, beautiful, healthy wife shopping for the first substantial gift he had given her. They had discussed the pattern, the color, the meanings of owning their very own... ' _stop it!_ ' He clamped down on the memory.

Biting back a curse, he allowed himself a small groan when his back protested the strain as he pushed the wall completely off his reason for returning to... well, for returning. He allowed no more thoughts past working on the next obstacle to his goal.

It took a bit more work, more careful prying and quiet levering. He finally had to use the remains of the china cabinet to prop up a fallen support beam, but he had done it. After fishing the key out of his grimy clothes he pulled open the heavy door of the safe. His breath caught as the door swung open, his eyes widening as they read the gilded writing on the large old album, 'Memories'.

Daniel was positive that his wife had been working on that book in their bedroom; he glanced up reflexively, feeling like a fool. There was no longer an upstairs, let alone the room he had shared with his wife for...

Shaking his head, he reached past the precious treasure and took hold of the much more practical object of this part of his quest.

Closing his hand on the pistol grip, Daniel Granger closed his eyes. His stomach was churning in a harsh mixture of relief and disgust. Pulling the Browning semi-automatic out of the safe, he realized he hadn't even trained with the weapon since... well, since just before he left the service, when Hermione was three years old.

Clearing the weapon, he loaded a clip and pulled the slide, cocking the single action pistol with an increasingly shaky hand. He wasn't nervous because of the weapon; having grown up in the country guns didn't bother him as they did many of his fellow countrymen.

He was shaking because he had heard someone behind him.

Daniel thought about his tired body, and hoped the noises were from the imagination of his equally tired mind. But he couldn't take any chances.

Spinning on his heel, the pistol was already swinging up and forward as he caught sight of the black robed man who had been standing just a few meters behind him.

The man's hand was already pointing at him, his lips moving silently. Daniel Granger cursed his slowness as he realized that the man had one of those damned sticks.

Even as he was ready to fire he found to his horror that he could not, that he couldn't even twitch.

Daniel would have groaned in defeat, but he lacked even that much self-control. He felt so _stupid_!

The man before him had very dark eyes and seemed to be boring into his mind the way he stared so intently. Somehow he had cast a spell upon Daniel in the moment before he could bring his pistol to bear. Now he was helpless!  
  


.o0o.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: We're in the home stretch. I've received some commentary about how I'm stretching things out, even with the action sequences they want things to move Forward. Please, dear readers, let me know how you feel about this story. Am I writing what you want to read or are you biding your time as well, waiting for something more?
> 
> Thanks to all of you who have reviewed chapters 1-7, my muse is always hungry for reviews, and a sated muse is a productive muse!
> 
> Blessings  
> Majerus


	9. Hermione Granger… Witch?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Harry Potter et al belong to JK Rowling, with my thanks for letting me play with her toys.
> 
> Thanks for reading! A quick warning: there's a bit of squeamish-making if you're squeamish-minded. It's not graphic, but it's there. Once again, there will be no gore, sexual content or explicit descriptions in Jean.
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely and talented Mylady Phoenix =)

Monday, November 1st, 1993 (continued)

“I don't think your studious daughter would appreciate it if you were to deprive her of one of her professors before she even arrived at school”, the long haired man drawled out, a smirk upon his thin lips. Those penetrating eyes narrowed as a new voice mocked from behind him. Daniel saw another man in dark robes seemingly fade into view behind the first man.

“Oh how funny Snape, were you going to try and flatter the information out of him? Talk takes too long, he's just a muggle; _Crucio_ him already.” the nasally voice taunted.

Daniel practically raged inside his non-responsive body. The enemy stood before him, and he - with his pistol in his hand – was caught. Not just caught, but paralyzed, unable even to shoot the man standing right in front of him, his finger was poised on the trigger! His frustration must have been evident in his eyes, but the second man took it for fear.

“Ohhh, does he know what 'Crucio' is? Oh, look at his face! He's gonna piss'emself!” the crude remarks were finished by a coughing laugh that made Snape take a step away before the newcomer hocked spittle upon the chest of the captive man.

“Hammish, why are you here?” The one called Snape asked, his tone bored as he turned back to the captive form in front of him. He finally got the paralyzed man's attention as he looked into Daniel's eyes, then glanced pointedly downwards. Daniel followed the gaze to see that his pistol was... gone? No, he could still feel it, cold and hard in his hand; it was invisible! The one called Snape turned back to face Hammish.

“Same reason you are Snape,” the lanky, hard-eyed man had replied. “We lost too many people last night. This bastard thought he fooled us, but I was the one what torched this place and then Travers says there ain't no bodies found. I been waitin' here for at least an hour now. This muggle's gotta pay for makin' me look bad. The Dark Lord tortured me because of this bastard! After I get done returnin' the favor he's gonna lead us straight to their bolt hole.”

“Fine, you do it, since you are more... familiar with the spell.” Snape smoothly replied, stepping once again to the side.

Hammish began to raise his wand, but the elder wizard grunted, “Idiot, he's petrified. Get up close, so you can see it in his eyes.”

Quickly moving forward, Hammish raised his wand once again, a manic gleam in his eye.  


 

.o0o.  


 

“Hermione, erm,” the older witch seemed quite embarrassed, “I'm sorry, I keep using your given name. When you attend Hogwarts I will need to address you as Miss Granger, it’s custom. However, at best, that's months away. What would you like me to call you until then?”

 _'Wow,_ ' the teen thought. ' _Why is that such a hard question to answer? How can I consider..._ ' Sitting quietly, she began to worry her bottom lip as she tried reasoning through the many positives and negatives for each name, and then questioning the motivations for each, when suddenly the answer became very clear to her.

The young woman looked up with a start, yet she spoke with a calm, if somewhat quite voice. “Please continue to call me Hermione.”

A tight smile graced the teacher's lips. Hermione noted that though small, the smile reached her eyes, which made the girl feel oddly pleased.

“Very well, though I could tell you gave that quite a bit of thought. May I ask how you arrived at your decision?” The curiosity was plain on the older woman's face.

“Actually it's for two completely different reasons. One: the reason I changed my name originally was to try to fit in, to be normal. If I'm, that is,” the girl exhaled loudly, her eyes slightly unfocussed, before she spoke in a low, steady voice, “I am a witch.” She glanced up, knowing it was the right term but still looking for the approval she thankfully found in her professor's eyes.

Continuing, the girl once again spoke with her usual precision, though there was a touch of wonder in her tone. “That is a huge change in my life and I think it fitting to mark that change with something equally important, my name.”

She finished her thought in a rush of words. “As everyone around here seems to think that's the name I should be called anyways, the name you all have given me, as the witch you all see me as.”

Growing silent after her quick outburst, she lowered her eyes to the dark carpet. “I... I think my mum would like it as well.”

Hermione looked up to see understanding in the others' eyes.

After a small silence the pair settled in and Hermione told the professor about her recollections. She included accounts of both of the witch’s visits, touching only briefly on the conditions of her parents at the time of her recruitment attempts. They talked for awhile about accidental magic and the need for concealing the magical world from the muggles. Hermione was fascinated.

Professor McGonagall was just exploring the idea of obliviation with her raptly attentive pupil when someone cleared their throat at the door.

 

.o0o.

 

Hammish had just opened his mouth to speak the spell when a sudden blast of noise interrupted him.

Eyes wide, Daniel watched as the horror of realization crept into the other man's face even before the captive man noticed that he could move again.

“Again!” Snape's voice startled Daniel as he watched the dying man's lips begin to move. Not quite sure why, he followed the command as if he were under a direct order. As Daniel Granger fired twice more in quick succession, he became fully aware that he was killing a man.

Severus Snape was not in the habit of giving praise, so he did not. It wasn't exactly the circumstance one gave praise for in any case. He could easily see by the look upon the face of his charge that this was his first time killing someone. The former Death Eater briefly closed his eyes, realizing how ridiculous his thoughts really were. ' _Of course it's his first time killing, not everyone in this land is running around murdering their fellow men as a matter of course._ '

Returning his focus to the matter at hand, Severus quickly disarmed the man as Daniel turned the weapon on his rescuer. His action didn't anger the potions master – the man had no idea who he was, let alone that he was being rescued by him.

“I'm on your side. I'm a spy, which is why that vermin treated me as an ally.” Severus spoke these words as though in a casual conversation, further confirmation that he was indeed a long way's past being bothered by death.

“Why... why didn't you... stop him, then, why...”

Severus exhaled slowly. He would try to take it easy on the fellow. The man was covered in a dark mud consisting of the ashes of his own home. But his family – what remained of it – was alive, and that was important to Minerva, for whatever reason. “I'll owe you one.” were her words... as if the Potter affair hadn't made her in his debt enough already. Still, he'd try to be gentle.

“I will explain all of that in a moment,” Severus deflected. “I am going to take care of a few issues here. I want you to take what you need from your safe and be ready to go in a moment. Oh, and,” Severus waved his wand, once, then again as the magic stripped the grime and ash from the man's clothing and then his body “There.”

He noted with interest that the muggle was warily tracking every motion of his wand, the intense distrust plain on his face.

Snape gestured with his empty hand to the safe behind the now clean man. Turning away, Severus was gratified to hear the door to the safe swinging open again and the rustling of papers. With the misdirection complete, the wizard once again raised his wand.

There was much to do here, but first things first, “One more thing, Mr. Granger?” Severus met the man’s questioning eyes with a whispered, “ _Obliviate._ ”

. . .  
  


A few minutes of intense mental and magical work later, Severus began to relax. All incriminating traces of Snapes’ involvement in the Death Eater’s demise were removed from the muggle’s mind.

He found it much easier to work with muggles in this state. Their minds open to his inquiries; he did not have to bother with tiresome chit chat to put their small minds at ease.

He simply conversed with the man quietly, gaining the information he needed, and then smoothing away the edges in the distraught father’s mind. It was a taxing job and not one suited for the location, but Snape needed this muggle’s cooperation to find the balance between hostility and complacency, and could ill afford the possible downsides of stunning the man.

Minerva had been quite clear in her instructions, and he had no intentions of straining the fragile balance that had been achieved in these last few years. Besides, she’d wagered a case of her best single-malt that he was not up to the finesse work she requested… Oh how he wanted to see the sour look on her face as he enjoyed her scotch at the next staff meeting. He might even share a bottle with the old man!

Once he was satisfied that he would have a pliable, if somewhat dazed muggle to work with, he turned to the other work that needed to be done before they could leave.

Shortly thereafter Snape was absorbed in a very complex transfiguration... one that would make Minerva either impressed or sick, most likely both.

Perhaps due to the experiences of his recent life, much of which was spent in instruction, he found himself speaking to the complacent man as if he were in a class giving a lecture.

“Mr. Granger, I'm going to use Hammish's corpse as a decoy for you, but I will likely need his body to be found as well, eventually. I am going to use a spell that will allow me to separate his body into two corpses, however the process is not particularly pleasant so please don't look this way.”

Daniel obediently turned away, his somewhat glazed view just as unfocussed on the broken wall as it had been on the wizard’s black eyes.

As he worked, the wizard reflected upon the project ahead of him. It wasn't so much the visual element that was disturbing, as that mostly just split the corpse in two and both halves were already re-forming into new, whole bodies as it happened.

It was the sound that made even Severus wince a bit once or twice.

Once he had created a viable corpse of Hammish, he shrunk the body down and placed it in his pocket for later disposal.

Turning, he performed a slightly illegal charm on the back of the befuddled man. Severus contented his meager conscience that the pain he surely felt was short-lived. Directing the small amount of blood drawn from the muggle, he lowered it onto the face of the second corpse, all the while he was chanting under his breath.

Carefully working with a steady wand, the potions master sculpted the spell to use the slightest bit of magic found in all blood to create an exact duplicate of the owner of the burned-down house.

This spell was in fact one of the reasons why he had realized that the Pure Blood rhetoric was nonsense. If the spell required the magic of the donor's blood, and it worked on muggles who, by the rhetoric had _no_ magic… why was it nobody else saw the simple truth? Likely the label of “dark magic” held sway over common sense, he mused as he worked over the corpse.

At last finished with the most difficult spell work, he began the unpleasant task of making the body appear to have died in the fire. Twirling his wand, he created a small cloud of ashes and whipped it into smoke above the face of the now look-alike Granger corpse. Casting wandlessly with his off hand, he slowly pushed down on the lungs, then lifted up – sucking the smoke into the body.

Becoming absorbed in his work, Snape made a few more modifications, some burns and bruises upon the face, back and arms…

Feeling eyes upon his back, Severus turned and found that instead of remaining entranced as expected, it was a rather clear eyed man that met his gaze.

‘ _Oh, I have an audience_ ,’ the wizard smirked, then returned his attention to the ‘dead’ Mr. Granger and continued the ghoulish remodeling of the corpse, the ‘ _crack_ ’ of a broken leg and then…

Paling, Mr. Granger quickly turned around, hands on his knees, leaned forward and emptied his stomach rather loudly.

Frowning, the potions master allowed a small part of his mind to remark upon the unusual nature of a muggle that was able to process information in his supposedly befuddled state. The rest of his energies he continued to devote to completing the necessary – ghastly, but necessary – damage to the corpse.

When he finished he returned his attention to the man that should still be standing complacent, however Mr. Granger was staring at Severus like he was a monster. Which, upon quick reflection, Snape could certainly understand. Even if it did raise an unbidden smirk before he could restrain himself and school his features into his more familiar scowl.

“My apologies, I did instruct you quite clearly,” the wizard stated, his ironic sarcasm lost on the man who seemed to suddenly find himself scolded.

“Yeah, I, uh, sorry. I thought you were done when the... they stopped...” His gaze kept wandering back to ‘his’ corpse laying there in the muck of the burned out home.

“The noises? Yes, unpleasant as I mentioned, however now,” and with this the wizard directed the large, fallen section of wall up off the floor, where it stayed hovering. Then, with another few wand flicks, the body and safe were quietly covered by the fallen wall. Finally, after a thorough search – and no small effort to cover their presence – the wizard returned his attention to the waiting muggle. Snape noticed with some satisfaction that if he had accomplished little other behavioral modifications, the muggle no longer seemed scared senseless of his wand. He had only extended this comfort to cover himself, the man’s daughter and, begrudgingly, Sirius Black.

“Now, when they get the missing persons report from your distraught daughter, they will find their 'mistake' in reporting that there were no casualties. Have you any other family around Mr. Granger?”

Embarrassed, the man held out his hand to shake. “Call me Daniel. I owe you my life, sir.”

Casually shaking the man's hand, Severus motioned for Daniel to press on, knowing his time was not endless.

“Around England? No. I have a couple of cousins in the States, more distant relations in Canada. My wife, well, she had family in France, but they weren't really close.”

“Very well. Mr. Granger, I have gathered your papers and reduced them in size; also, I'm going to give your pistol back to you. I want you to keep it upon your person and speak with Mr. Black about it, when you have a private moment. He can also undo the charm on your other belongings.”

Daniel nodded his understanding as the long haired man returned the firearm, along with a small bundle which easily fit in his pocket.

“Now, we are going to take a short ride, using magic. It's called apparition and it is painless, though a bit...” Severus took Daniel by the arm and the pair disappeared with a *pop*.

Reappearing in the back garden of Grimauld place, “...uncomfortable.” Severus finished.

While he waited for the muggle to get his balance he admired the ward stones as he felt the magic thrum under his feet. The apparition pad Sirius had installed was a clever bit of magic, he had to grudgingly admit, even if only ever to himself.

Turning to his charge, he felt his duty almost complete. He remembered, however, the admonishment of – and a certain wager riding upon – finesse.

“Given the circumstances you’ll forgive me for not exchanging pleasantries earlier.” The mild sarcasm, which was for Severus a monumental restraint, did not register in the slightest to the other man.

“Mr. Granger, my name is Severus Snape. I am a Professor at the school your daughter will be attending some time - I think in the near future. I think that you will now see that your impulsive choice to find a firearm was ill considered. You would have been killed outright by that moron had I not been here. A much worse fate awaited should he had finally cast the spell correctly.”

Daniel took up the dark haired man’s hand in a firm grip, his awareness of just how close he had come to death much more intensified by this wizards spells upon Hammish’s fallen body than anything the Death Eater had done or said. Still, he knew he owed this man his life, and he was not one to forget a debt.

“I cannot thank you enough with words. I understand that your people are at war. Someday I hope to return the debt I owe, please let me know if I can help.”

Severus could not miss the earnest look, or the man’s serious tone. He had no idea what aid this muggle could lend, yet he knew he had an ally should he have need. Allies were especially handy if you in turn owed nothing to them, he mused with an inward smile. He motioned towards the house by way of reply.

“Mr. Granger, I believe you will find your daughter quite upset with you. Perhaps you should not keep her waiting any longer?” His tone was light, but held no humor, and it was with those words that Severus Snape departed with another *pop*.

. . .  
  


Around the back yard children played quietly. A few had observed the two men arrive in the back corner, and the more curious among them noted that one of the men went inside. A few short moments later the whole house resounded with a joyous cry,

“DADDY!”

.o0o.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks so much for the PM's. Special thanks to Tellur for pointing out a ridiculously bizarre issue where the words in italics ran together!
> 
> At last, the Grangers are reunited, Jean has officially returned to her real name – and looks to be exploring her magical future.
> 
> We'll move into the next phase of the story in the next chapter: Transitions
> 
> Blessings,  
> Majerus


	10. Transitions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks as always to my brilliant Beta, Mylady Phoenix with help from my fellow authors Frutality & James Spookie, my sis Thirst4light, and a special thanks to my wife, Diana.

_Minutes before the Grangers' happy reunion, Hermione was being consoled by the least likely person any Hogwarts alumni would believe capable of such a feat (well, besides a certain potions professor)._

 

Minerva glanced up to find a tired looking young auror standing in the doorway. Steeling herself for what might be terrible news, she turned to her charge.  
  
“Hermione, I need to tend to something – please excuse me for a minute.” The older woman's voice faltered as she could see the fear in the girl's eyes. Obviously Hermione had seen the source of the interruption, and the uniform would certainly give her already overworked imagination a fresh source of anxiety.  
  
“I'll be right back,” the professor tried to comfort, yet she already knew she had failed. Standing reluctantly, she approached the disheveled young man, noting as she entered the hall that the auror had a bandaged arm and looked exhausted. He began speaking right away.  
  
“It's the wards, in the command room, something is active but I don't have the ward-map and I was only supposed to be on relief for an hour and-”  
  
Realizing that of those in the house, only Sirius would be able to interpret what the Auror was talking about, Minerva knew she had to act quickly. The Professor, who had in fact taught this young auror in school not three years ago, did something she had never done to him before: She took his hands in hers. “Mr. Trelin, Theodore, is it not?” Barely giving the young man time to register her words, Minerva pushed on. “Theodore, we must find Lord Black. You start in the kitchen and I will send a messenger spell and meet you in the command room, alright? Now go.”

Theodore scurried down the hall towards the kitchen while the Deputy Headmistress was already whispering her spell. The young auror had barely rounded the corner when a wisp of magic passed him, turning deeper into the house.  
  
“What is it? What happened - is it my father?” Hermione's strained voice came from the doorway.  
  
Turning, Minerva presented the girl with her most hopeful expression, “We don't know. It's an alert, but I was not part of the ward setup. I've alerted Sirius, he should be on his way now. I promise not to keep anything from you, alright?”  
  
At first the old teacher thought her practical, yet hopeful approach had stemmed the terror she could see in the young woman's eyes. Then something totally unexpected happened: Hermione launched herself forward, wrapping Minerva in tight hug. Stifling a sob, the girl held on for a few seconds before Minerva wrapped her own arms gently around the small frame pressed against her. McGonagall knew she needed to move, to find Sirius; yet the young woman in her arms seemed unwilling to let go.  
  
It was a long minute before she felt the sobs die down. Hermione stepped back, head down, her mess of curls obscuring her face. “Go ahead. I'll stay here,” she spoke, her voice barely more than a whisper.  
  
The old professor hadn't made it down the hall before the call that made her heart leap with joy rang through the house.  
  
Hermione's father had returned!

 

.o0o.

  
Sirius sat at the table, nursing a cup of tea as muted conversations buzzed around him in the expanded kitchen. A hearty breakfast was being dished out by a tired looking young woman he did not recognize.  
  
His head shot up, but other than those who were looking at him, nobody else had heard what he had: the wards had pinged. The next moment he had disappeared, leaving those in the kitchen stunned and concerned.  
  
Sirius appeared instantly in his command center, Regulus' old room, which was spread with maps, charts, lists and – most importantly – a large section of wall covered in small lights.  
  
The light status varied from dark to steady, some brighter than others. One flashed red.  
  
It was the sensor ward at the Grangers' burnt out home: someone had used magic there.  
  
Arithmancy was hardly the young Lord's specialty, yet he had taken great pains to learn it so he could tutor his godson. The complex studies had turned out to be invaluable in setting up this network of wards, alerts and sensors.  
  
Pouring his focus into the spells, he found that not just one, but many spells had been cast, recently.  
  
At least one of them was dark magic.  
  
Snapping off an alert to the Order's duty desk, Sirius keyed himself into the Grangers' wards and disappeared with a crack.  
  
The wisp of McGonagall's spell sped around the corner only a second later, then faded as its target was no longer in range.

 

.o0o.

  
Lucius Malfoy stood blinking his eyes in disbelief – again.  
  
Only moments before the member of the Dark Lord’s inner-circle had watched as the thrice-cursed traitor Snape had disappeared, with a wanted muggle no less.  
  
The blonde pureblood had been tasked to observe Severus by his Master, who seemed to not trust anyone. Idly, Lucius wondered who was watching him.  
  
No matter, once Snape had disappeared he had moved – disillusioned and silenced – into the area recently vacated. Malfoy Sr. quickly uncovered the body that his fellow Death Eater had buried. It was a double of the man Severus had disapparated with. Even as the wheels were still turning on that information the scene was interrupted by the crack of apparition.  
  
Lucius Malfoy was far from a powerful wizard, and certainly no top notch duelist. But he was quick, and with the advantage of surprise from his concealment he had turned and blasted the newcomer off his feet as soon as he had registered that they were not in Death Eater robes.  
  
So it was that Lucius now stood blinking his eyes in disbelief again. Disbelief at his incredible good fortune, for he stood over the unconscious form of none other than Sirius Black.  
  
Knowing he had only moments before the scene would be flooded with officials, Malfoy stunned the downed man, disarmed him and disapparated with his prize even as the Aurors began popping in to surround the perimeter of the now empty property.

 

.o0o.

  
Harry Potter was exhausted. The wizarding wireless was now into it's sixth hour of repeating the same stories, without any new information. He glanced around the common room and saw a single pair of bleary eyes return his gaze. Half a dozen students were asleep on couches, most had returned to their beds hours ago.  
  
Harry moved quietly to the exit, and was out and moving down the hallway before his friend could start to argue or insist upon coming along. While Harry normally did not mind the boy's company, he knew he had to be alone for this particular adventure.

Harry had learned the secret passages with years of practice and, of course, the ultimate cheat-sheet: the Marauder's Map. He didn't need the map this morning, making his way along a winding path, sometimes doubling back on a stair case or ducking into a seemingly random classroom until he was certain he was not being followed.  
  
Though it was tiring to his already numb mind and body, he slowly and stealthily moved through the castle towards his goal. The end result was exactly as planned: He left the castle unnoticed by anyone. Harry Potter was still exhausted, but his adrenaline fueled his actions – actions which he knew were rash and sure to get him into trouble.

He didn't care about any of that as he flipped the floo powder into the fireplace of the Hogs Head.  
  
“Grimmauld Place,” he called out clearly, though quietly, then stepped forward and disappeared in a flash and swirl of green smoke.

 

.o0o.

  
Lucius knew something was wrong the moment he arrived in his, that is, the Dark Lord's grand ballroom. The man calling himself Lord Voldemort was speaking in a low, deadly tone that had everyone in the room cringing.  
  
Standing in front of their returned Master was one of his greatest rivals: Bellatrix Lestrange. Sure enough, Lucius' instincts were correct, as the normally subservient Bella was ignoring her Lord's direct command to kneel. Instead she stood, shaking life a leaf, a dozen feet in front of Voldemort's throne-like seat.  
  
Deciding that Bella must be paralyzed with fear over her failures the previous night, Lucius recognized an opportunity: If he saved Bella from her due punishment then she would owe him.  
  
Lucius did what he smugly knew only he, the traitor Snape, and Bella herself were allowed: approach Lord Voldemort without being summoned. His timing might just distract the Dark Lord from the murderous witch, who, while certainly not sane, was at least usually more self-controlled. Having his psychotic sister-in-law in his debt, even to a small degree, was a prospect the Slytherin in him looked forward to gloating over.

With a few quick flicks of his wand the (former) Lord of the manor was marching forward with a still groggy Sirius Black. He held Lord Black's own wand against his back as he stepped forward, gaining the Dark Lord’s attention.

That's when he heard the madwoman's whimpers turn into an uncharacteristically clear voice. “I have a message for you my Lord,” Bellatrix choked out, and Lucius winced at the formality so unlike her normal simpering adoration.

Turning, the wizard paused in shock as he saw the beginnings of some form of magical energy begin to seep from the witch. He realized then that Bella wasn’t shaking in fear, she was straining under the effects of some kind of spell. Was this some new torture the Dark Lord had devised? His musings were interrupted as Bella spoke again, though again her voice was abnormal… this time her voice didn’t even sound like her own.

The hackles on Lord Malfoy's neck were standing the second he recognized that hated voice – a voice that Bellatrix Lestrange would never emulate; The voice of Albus Dumbledore.

Lucius shook himself internally, his face a careful mask. It was not actually the Headmaster’s voice, but Bella’s words rang with the old Mage’s exact cadence and maddeningly-calm tone as she spoke, reciting “If you are in fact Tom Riddle, I will leave you wishing you could share my fate.”

For the third time in a scant few minutes, Lucius Malfoy stood blinking his eyes in disbelief: Could Bella actually be saying that? The witch began to shake violently. The energies radiating from her body surged and then seemed to collapse back into Bella even as she screamed in agony – Lucius assumed that their Master had silently Crucio’d his crazed follower.

Then all hell broke loose. He barely registered a strong grip on his arm as he felt his family wards activated... even as his family home exploded around him.

 

.o0o.

  
The shock wave rocked Draco out of his bed, and before he could even register that he was on the floor he was outside, on the dew-wet grass, behind his mother. He vaguely noted the popping noise of house elves as they brought a few more people to the same location. A very few people.  
  
He smelled it before he saw it. His ears apparently weren't quite alert yet because he could not hear the Western wing of Malfoy Manor crash down, but he could feel the impact as the whole second and third floors collapsed into the flames. He didn't hear himself take a shuddering breath at watching the shocking scene unfold before him.  
  
The first thing he did hear was his mother's sob as she called his name in relief even as she grabbed him in a crushing hug. He was too stunned to be embarrassed.  
  
Between the wards, the charms and the house elves, only the Western wing was lost. The wing where the Dark Lord resided. Where Draco's father 'worked'.  
  
When Draco finally spoke, nobody answered.  
  
It didn't stop him from repeating the question, though: “Where's my father?”

 

  
.o0o.

  
Grimmauld Place had gone from chaos at Harry's appearance to a subdued vigil for the missing Lord of the house within minutes. Those minutes had one major event which turned everything upside down.

Harry had been standing in the barely open kitchen doorway trying to unobtrusively get Tonk’s attention when there was a sharp *crack* behind him and Harry fell into the kitchen in surprise. Well, so much for unobtrusive. Turning away from the surprisingly large number of faces staring at him, Harry diverted his attention – and anger – at who had destroyed his careful plan.

It was Kreacher who had appeared, the ancient house-elf was looking solemnly at Harry as he bowed so low his long nose and floppy ears both touched the floor.

“Does the new Master Black have orders, sir?”

Harry's head whipped back up to the collection of shocked faces, wanting the adults to not show the same confusion as he felt, wanting answers; wanting, but finding only shock and fear mirroring his own.

 

.o0o.

 

It took Harry hours to piece it all together. He had spoken to several people around the house and discovered that Sirius had gone to help find the muggle father of one of the refugees.  
  
Now, as he was sitting purposely apart from the others in the kitchen, he could only wait for news. His body was strangely energized, his exhaustion seemingly wiped away to be replaced by a shocked anticipation. Word had been sent to Dumbledore and Harry had pinned all of his hope on the Headmaster clearing this up. It was all a misunderstanding. There had to be a mistake.

Yet he knew there was no mistake. How could he deny the truth when his own magic was on fire? Harry could feel the magic of the House, the ancient curses and powerful wards, there was no denying that Sirius had named him his heir. They’d even blood bonded last summer. ‘The last hope for House Black’ Sirius had mused.

Harry’s head was splitting with a headache that the potion Molly had forced him to take had only dulled for a few minutes. He supposed that the household magic was attuning itself to him. He was terrified that he was attuning to the famously dark magic of the Blacks as well. Looking around at the various strangers he saw no one who could give him answers. Instead of any source of support he only saw questions and calculating stares – when people would meet his eyes at all.

Harry grit his teeth as the whispers continued around him. He knew that Sirius was gone. The various ‘what if’ and ‘maybe’ theories that were being bandied about made him want to scream. He almost did scream. Yet admitting what he knew out loud would be the end of Sirius. The end of his family. He held on to his last shred of hope: Dumbledore. Dumbledore would know what to do. He would find his Godfather and correct this accident and make things right.

The young student started rocking in place, his eyes clamped shut. A subtle vibration began throughout the house, which had dozens of people looking around wide eyed, and then the disturbance stopped as Harry’s head shot up, eyes fixed on the kitchen floo.

The fire flared green and the Headmaster stepped wearily into the kitchen. The old mage quickly engaged in a quiet but intense conversation with Professor McGonagall. Harry idly mused that the old Transfiguration professor seemed to always know when Dumbledore would arrive, and his thoughts further strayed to wondering where she had been all this time. He knew better than to interrupt the pair's conversation, especially when he was this close to the edge of his self control already. One 'all in good time, Harry' from the Headmaster and Harry would probably start throwing hexes.

The two aged teachers kept glancing over to him and Harry knew in his heart that his last hope was gone. 'Fine', he thought, forcing all else from his mind, he resolved to have done with it.

He stood and asked a simple question: “I thought the fighting was over, so - why did he leave?”

The several dozen people around him shrunk back instinctively. Harry’s question may have been simple, but his tone was menacing and harsh.

Minerva looked away from Albus, her eyes wide as she tried to form a response to the obviously distraught student. Unfortunately a young auror spoke up before she could find the right words.  
  
“He, well, Lord Black got an alert on the wards at the Granger house, the girl's father was missing. But he turned up,” the young man finished, his voice hollow and flat.  
  
“He turned up?” Harry repeated, incredulously. The auror winced as he shrank back from his furious gaze. Dumbledore started from his musings and peered at the young man. Harry was visibly shaking and it seemed that he was only standing because he was leaning against the ancient, dark wood of the kitchen wall.

The Hogwarts student turned his glare back to his teachers, anger plain in his tone and bearing. “This muggle goes running off in the middle of the night and Sirius gets killed trying to save him?” Harry's question had turned into a shout, an accusation that he leveled at the two in the far corner only to have Minerva avert her eyes. The Headmaster met Harry's burning gaze with one of deep sorrow and something snapped in the young man's heart.  
  
“I want them out. As Lord of this house I refuse for them to stay here another moment!”  
  
There was a ripple of magic and a series of small cracks were heard from elsewhere in the large house.  
  
McGonagall looked horrified while Dumbledore just stared wide-eyed at the young man standing in the opposite corner, as if a fighter squared off in a boxing match. Harry's fists were clenched, his eyes wild, the teen's body shaking with rage.  
  
“Harry, please, what has happened is terrible, but this young woman and her father were not to blame. Sirius wanted to help them – is this how you honor the goodness of his heart?”

If the young man heard the last question he gave no indication. His mind had locked onto something the Headmaster had said early in his statement. “What has happened.” Harry spit out, a statement, not a question. Whispers of magic coursed through his body, old magic demanding an answer for the loss of its Lord.

Squaring his narrow frame, standing at his full, yet rather short height, a muggle might have mistaken Harry for a petulant teen. The magic beginning to radiate from him, though, was as intimidating to most of those gathered as if Harry were a hulking brute. “You know what happened to Sirius,” he stated with such menace that the young auror actually began to reach for his wand in reflex.

“Would you all excuse us, please? Harry and I have something private to discuss.” The words were so calmly stated, so delicate that many didn’t respond at first. Then in ones and twos the expanded kitchen slowly emptied of all but the Headmaster and his Deputy, standing opposite a young man quivering in barely suppressed rage under his school robes.

 

.o0o.

  
  
Hermione Granger had not let go of her father's hand for the last several hours. He had told her that he would need to speak with the master of the house in private when he returned. She wasn't letting go until she had to.  
  
Which turned out to be much more sudden than she could imagine.  
  
The young witch heard shouting from downstairs and then there was a popping noise. Hermione barely had time to register that a small creature was gripping her arm and then she was on the sidewalk.  
  
Two seconds and two small popping noises later and her father was staring bewildered back at her, another series of pops and the small trunk Sirius had given her was next to the duffel bag that her father was using.  
  
They had been dumped in the street!

 

.o0o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that didn't turn out at all like I had thought it would.  
> No, really, Harry is not cooperating with me at all; his character has really taken off in a whole different direction than when I started this story.  
> We'll have to look into why that is over the next few chapters, so he'll be sharing the spotlight a bit more with our heroine.
> 
> As always I truly appreciate reviews. They motivate me more than anything, so please let me know what you think!  
> Blessings,  
> Majerus


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean and her father struggle to come to terms with Magic, with varied results

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The story is starting to really move forward, but I'm afraid I'm jumping around a bit again.  
> Too much has happened and needs to happen to put in a single continuous stream of time, but I think I've got it mostly moving forward mostly. :)
> 
> As always, this is JKR's playground, and I thank her for letting me play in it.
> 
> I've received one PM and had two friends mention that they had to re-read at least the last chapter to make sense of CH 11 :(  
> With that in mind, here is a quick review:
> 
> Sirius, looking for Hermione's missing father, is captured when he blunders right into the path of none other than Lucius Malfoy, who happily stuns the Marauder and takes him to his dark lord.
> 
> Harry, having gotten fed up of waiting for news, sneaks out of Hogwarts to Grimmauld Place.
> 
> The Bella-bomb detonates in the dark lord's face, leveling an entire wing of Malfoy Manor, with Lucius and his prisoner Sirius at ground zero. Many Death Eaters are present as well. Draco, his mother and a few guests not in the wing are evacuated.
> 
> Moments later Harry learns that he is now "Lord Black" from none other than Kreacher. The House wards are already attuning themselves to him and he can soon feel the pressure of generations of Black family magic.  
> His attitude - already strained from lack of sleep and the almost certain loss of his only family - becomes darker as he awaits 'official' word from Dumbledore.
> 
> One look at Dumbledore trading sad looks with Minerva and Harry begins to demand to know what happened to Sirius.
> 
> He learns that Sirius had last been involved in the rescue of a muggle. The Black family magic is livid at the idea of a Black dying for a muggle. Influenced by grief, exhaustion and a healthy dose of dark magic - Harry makes his first action as 'Lord Black' the command to banish the Grangers from Grimmauld Place.
> 
> Hermione goes from one extreme to another yet again, still in the space of the 24 hours that she lost her mother, her home and lost-then-regained her father. Now she and her father are dumped outside in the cold with no explanation. Did I mention she discovered she was a witch somewhere in there?

Jean CH 11 A Little More Time

November 1st, 1993  
Grimmauld Place, Kitchen

The room hummed and thrummed with a magical pulse. The energy was centered on the young man across the kitchen from the only two people who weren't fleeing the room at Dumbledore's 'request'.

Harry's vision seemed to darken, he felt the weight of the House upon him. The Old Magic wanted answers. He felt oddly detached as he watched the rabble scurry from his presence. The boy felt the magic growing in him demanding an answer to the loss of Sirius, demanding vengeance for his death, demanding more. A swell of anger and power built unbidden in Harry's mind. He would get what he wanted for he was Lord Black!

A spark of magic arced from the youth to the wall, scoring the ancient wood for a moment before snapping off with a crackling noise that made Minerva blanch at the display of raw power coming from her third year student.

Albus, however, was not impressed. "ENOUGH!" roared the old mage. Magical energy crackled around the youth once again, but this time it seemed to sink into Harry. "You will not disgrace the memory of your godfather by striking about with his family magic like a child in a tantrum. Control yourself, Now."

The hum of magic died like a candle blown out, with barely a wisp of smoke for evidence of what was moments ago burning bright.

Harry sagged on his feet, his face stricken in a mixture of self-loathing, grief and terror. The darkness swirling behind his eyes slipped away and he realized how close to losing control he had come.

"I.. I'm, so-so-sorry-" he choked out, but Dumbledore cut across his apology with his voice as much as his hand.

"I'm not the one you owe an apology. Right now invited guests of House Black are sitting bewildered in the street. Bring them back into their room, apologize quickly and return here. We have much to discuss."

The young man's first reaction to his Headmaster's tone was shock, he'd never heard the old man speak to anyone this way, let alone a student, and certainly not him. He'd always been a favorite of Dumbledore and he knew it. His mind caught up to the words a full second later. Acting almost on instinct, his training kicked in and he reacted to the commands after a hasty "Yes Sir!", then he disappeared without a sound.

.o0o.

Hermione looked up at the outstretched hand and into the clouded green eyes of Harry Potter. She didn't know the boys' name, of course, but she did know his pain. It was clear in his watery eyes and so plain on his conflict-ridden face.

She and her dad had just gotten their minds around the fact that they were kicked out when a boy in school robes appeared soundlessly in front of them. He'd immediately apologized and asked them to please take his hands, then reached down towards them both.

Neither Granger had responded yet.

Closing his eyes, the boy let out a long, rattling sigh. Hermione's heart clenched, she knew that sound. "Please?" he asked, "I am sorry, I lost sight of what I was doing when I found out Sirius-" his voice failed.

Hermione shook herself from the stupor of these startling past few moments. Meeting her father's eyes, she gave a quick nod, to which he shrugged and grabbed his bag. He reached his free hand up to grasp the hand of the distraught young man, who seemed to be startled by the contact. Grabbing the handle of her trunk, she too reached up to take the dark haired boy's offered hand. She met his eyes briefly, still seeing a tumult behind the bright green, and then he clamped them closed again.

A moment later the air was stuffy – and sadly still smelled of cleaning supplies. The boy dropped his hands to his sides, breaking their connection. Both Grangers were still seated, but now they were on their beds. Her trunk was at the foot of her bed and her father's bag lay on the bed next to him. The boy stood with his back to the door of their small room and he raised his eyes to look at them each in turn.

"I think Sirius is dead." He stated, a toneless series of words that conveyed exhaustion and loss. "I suddenly became the head of the house and I lashed out when I found out he had last been looking for you." He looked upon her father with a mixture of anguish, anger and confusion.

The boy squeezed his eyes shut, Hermione noticed that he had balled up his fists and in fact his whole body had gone rigid before he let out a breath that seemed to chill the room by several degrees. His body lax, the dark haired youth looked at them each in turn again with tired, pained eyes. "I am so very sorry, I will honor the hospitality offered by Lord Black and ask your forgiveness for my behavior. I am required elsewhere, however just ask for Dobby if you have any immediate needs. I will come and speak to you again as I am able."

Hermione hadn't known who the young man was, but he didn't come back for many hours. By then the various nurses had filled her in on the news. Harry Potter was the boy's name. He was the heir to House Black and yet just a student in his third year at Hogwarts – the school she had been invited to. He was also idolized as a hero for defeating a madman over a decade ago, the same madman who was responsible for last night's anarchy.

So the Grangers spent the morning becoming acquainted with the legends and history of not just their host, but of the world they had been thrust into.

.o0o.

Minerva blinked at where the boy had been, her gaze slid over to see the frown on Albus's face and she blinked again.

"Well then."

She had more to say. A whole books' worth more to say. It's just she couldn't get her mouth to form words around the swirl of thoughts and reactions to all that had happened in such a short time. Before she got a handle on anything more lucid the boy was back. That actually made things worse – it raised more questions: When had Harry Potter learned to apparate? Soundlessly no less!

Albus was already moving to the table, and gestured for Harry to sit. He gave a quick wave of his wand and a full tea set with biscuits appeared; he began pouring without a word.

Over the next hour Albus Dumbledore explained why he thought Sirius was still alive, but magically imprisoned somehow. The more difficult bit was why they couldn't do anything to free Sirius, yet.

Through it all young Harry seemed to sit rigidly, yet attentively listening. The boy was obviously scared and certainly still angry, but the most he said were 'yes sir' and 'no sir'. The sometimes snarky but always pleasant young man now seemed more terrified than anything else. When Albus finally asked the boy to drink a calming draught it seemed to have almost no effect, other than to cause Harry to begin yawning regularly.

Sending him back to Hogwarts wasn't an option, though Minerva was asked to floo the school and inform them of Harry's location and security. When she turned from the floo she found that Harry had fallen asleep at the table, his brow deeply knit even in sleep.

.o0o.

When Harry did return to speak to the Grangers he appeared a very different young man. The first and most noticeable difference was he was dressed in different robes. The dark, formal looking robes had a crest upon the chest and were obviously very expensive and important. Yet Harry didn't seem comfortable in his new clothes.

Introductions were exchanged and the Grangers politely feigned ignorance of their young host's identity. A very few pleasantries later, Harry had reiterated his assurance of their welcome, instructed them once again to call upon someone named Dobby if they had pressing needs and then left upon 'family business'.

All in all he didn't look as broken as he first appeared to them and yet Hermione could see through his walls. She could see he was not new to the game of hiding his emotions, but he was definitely unsure of himself.

Over the next month the Grangers saw Harry irregularly, sometimes in the middle of the day or over a weekend, but never for long and he was always distracted. He seemed to gravitate to the basement - which Hermione had learned was the magical equivalent of a shooting range. She had grown used to the strange vibrations that sometimes accompanied his 'workouts', but it was somewhat disconcerting that a boy her age was downstairs blowing things up.

She began her private schooling straight away, an older man named Remus Lupin came the very next day stating that Sirius was a personal friend who had requested him as a tutor for Hermione. The young woman was amazed at the gesture from a man she had only really just met. Remus was an unusual man though he seemed competent enough as a teacher. He had straight away set her up with a schedule of 'classes', which was to say books for her to read and try to understand.

Within a week he'd had to revise his schedule three times. He was still not convinced that Hermione could possibly be learning everything at the pace she set; a pace that Remus (he refused to accept the title of Professor) himself could barely keep up with, trying as he was to review material from going on twenty years past. Finally at the end of the first week he seemed to realize that Hermione was soaking up everything he could teach. That Friday he broke the rules for Hermione for the first of many times.

Remus took her and her father into Diagon Alley. There she got her wand, though she was not allowed to use it. At least not outside of Grimmauld; and even then not in front of anyone besides himself, Professor McGonagall, the Headmaster or a strange young auror named Tonks, who was the unofficial security for the slowly dwindling number of refugees still in the old house. She also bought or was bought about thirty books on spells and magical theory, it's origins and many many more of that same vein.

The man she called 'teacher', despite his protests, was beginning to see some of what Sirius had glimpsed, and Minerva had hoped she could cultivate. It had been over a dozen years since she'd found a young witch that reminded her of herself so strongly. The elderly professor dearly hoped she could help make this young woman's life better than those who had held such potential before her.

.o0o.

December 2nd, 1993

Hermione placed the heavy book carefully on the table and stretched. She felt her muscles protesting and she had to keep working her left foot back and forth – it had fallen asleep. Blinking rapidly she realized that the light in the windows was more dawn than streetlamp and cringed both inwardly and physically.

Dad would Not be amused. Even though her father was much more at ease this last month, he was still her dad and had decided that she must have a regular schedule. He'd have a stroke if he knew the hours she had kept at Uni.

Thinking about her father, she had to smile. Having finally found something useful to contribute had certainly turned the corner for him. Who knew a background in naval signals would come in so handy? While Hermione may have gotten her analytical mind from her mother, her dad was no dummy. In fact, when it came to codes he was brilliant; brilliant and a stickler for regimen. She hadn't just overdone it, she had completely ignored sleep altogether. Maybe she could sneak up to her bed?

A quick tempus later and the cringe became a full on grimace. The tall buildings on Grimmauld street masked the sun's progress, it wasn't dawn: It was half past 8 in the morning. Add Remus and Professor Sinistra to her list of those who would surely be angry at sleep-deprived-Hermione.

There was no way she could make it through the day's studies and she had that report due to both of her teachers on the Lunar eclipse just two nights ago. The effects of an eclipsed full moon upon Remus had sounded like a fascinating report subject for both her DADA and Astronomy classes when in fact it had yielded almost no data and mostly just boredom for Hermione while Remus sulked in his cage for three straight hours. He was fully in control while under the effects of the wolfsbane potion, yet he was unwilling to take the chance. Not that it mattered to her father who had made his thoughts clear despite the fact that he and Remus got along quite well otherwise.

Shrugging aside the episode as much ado about nothing, Hermione reflected upon how she was going to make a detailed and informative report about what didn't happen. The fact was that there just wasn't anything to report. That fact had led her to browsing through the books.

She had found yet another book in the Black library that allowed her access. Access that, according to Harry, she shouldn't have until her magic was more 'mature'. She failed to suppress the snort from her memory of the first time he had found her reading books from 'his library'. The poor guy had just stared at her, then shook his head and went back downstairs. That's all he ever did the rare times he was here – go downstairs and blow things up.

She couldn't understand how he could turn away from so much potential, the knowledge she had gained in just one month was staggering even to her accomplished mind. Besides, Sirius had said she could use the library the day he had shown it to her. The last day anyone had seen him.

Shaking off the gloom, Hermione limped towards the kitchen, her tingling foot was the only part of her that caught anything approaching sleep and apparently it didn't want to wake up. She was halfway through the automatic process of getting cereal out when she realized that today was Thursday, one of her 'free days'.

To most people the term 'free day' might mean a day off. And in a way, it was, she wouldn't have to go running with Remus or Tonks. She wouldn't have to turn in any school work (that was tomorrow). She was allowed to do as she pleased, on no one's schedule but her own. After being up for the last two days with minimal sleep, a quick fill up on Toasties and a long nap would be a great start to her day.

Twenty minutes later Hermione had eaten, cleaned up and brushed her teeth and was settling into her comfortable bed in her small but private room. Her last conscious thought of the meeting she was to have with Professor McGonagall over possibly getting more help for her studies.

.o0o.

Minerva reviewed the latest papers with a smile. She picked up and examined the perfectly formed needle and set it down with it's near dozen mates. Excellent transfiguration.

Hermione's work was impeccable, as usual, and the deputy headmistress was pleased to feel confident that her gamble with the exceptional young woman was paying off. If she kept up this pace she would be able to start next year, albeit as a third year – but only one year behind her peers was a fantastic accomplishment that the older witch doubted any other student could pull of with such a late start.

Pursing her lips, the Professor considered the correspondence that lay to the side of her desk. Her long time friend in the Department of Mysteries had survived the inquiries of the past years mostly due to the upheaval caused by the supposed return – and quick disappearance of – the dark lord Voldemort. She owed the man immensely for the risks he took, though in truth it was just as much her risk and his ideas that led to their conspiracy against blocking Hermione's magic.

If she truly understood what he was hinting at, the young woman could be a perfect candidate. The idea would work for both his theories and the betterment of a very promising young witch.

It could very well mean the difference between starting third year next year – as Minerva forecast – or instead coming to Hogwarts after the holiday, albeit as a second year. The deputy Headmistress was sure that the witch would be able to handle the schedule and in doing so catch up with her peers by the end of the summer.

Minerva despised the 'art' of divination, yet she'd learned to never ignore her gut; and her gut was telling her that Hermione needed to be with her peers. More to the point, that her peers, one in particular, needed Hermione. Someone had to give that boy some competition or he'd continue to coast. Dark lord aside, Harry Potter was becoming complacent. Worse, in his boredom he was reminding Minerva of the worst sides of his father as well as the god-father that was no longer around to guide him. There was a reason Head of House was not often awarded to a fourteen year old boy and Harry Potter was quickly starting to demonstrate why.

. . .

That afternoon Minerva met with Croaker, her friend from the Department of Mysteries. They traveled by secure portkey to the ready-room in Grimmauld Place, where the pair separated. Croaker waited while the Professor fetched the reason for their visit, Hermione.

Seated as comfortably as they could be in what was basically an office, the elder magicals looked intently upon the 'brand new' witch.

Though she trusted her mentor, Hermione did not know this strangely garbed man, whose face she wasn't quite able to focus upon. Their stares unnerved her yet she stayed calm; falling back upon years of 'training' in handling stress from her peers, she breathed slowly and deeply.

The man continued to stare into the girls eyes until finally, as if fed up with the wait, Hermione stared right back at him and refused to blink.

"Yes, I think so." Was the man's simple statement a few (Long) moments later.

Hermione blinked, then again to clear the spots and looked to her Professor for some clue as to what was happening.

"Hermione Jean Granger, I have a question for you." The man's tone was calming, kind even, yet the young woman couldn't quite shake her wariness.

"Go ahead, uhm, sir."

"What is the one thing you could do with more of?

'Oh, a riddle'! Hermione loved riddles... 'Lets see, books-yes, time-definitely, money-not so much, friends-' Her musings were cut short by her mentors cleared throat. Looking to the Professor, she saw a small yet indulgent smile.

"Hermione, just answer the first thing that makes sense lass, tis no trial or riddle."

Scrunching up her brow, the young witch briefly frowned at the disappointment she felt before answering from the list she'd formed:

"Time," she stated confidently. "Everything else I can get, or make due without, but I will never be able to make up the time I've lost already."

Catching movement out of the corner of her eye, she turned to see, or rather not see the strange man.

He had disappeared without a sound. On the bench he'd used as a chair sat a small golden... something, attached to a long golden chain.

A sharp breath from Professor McGonagall drew her attention. "Lass, we've got a few rules to cover, but I think we'll be meetin' your needs."

Hermione wasn't quite sure what to make of the smile that graced Minerva's face, but she was glad to see it reached the woman's eyes.

.o0o.

December 17th, 1993

Hermione placed the heavy book carefully on the table and stretched. She felt her muscles protesting and she had to keep working her left foot back and forth – it had fallen asleep, again. She knew better than to tuck her legs and yet the position was just so natural and comfortable to read a large book resting on the arm of the squishy chair.

It was quite late once again, though she had not pulled an all-nighter this time. Setting the tome on the side-table she resolved to get some rest.

Twenty minutes later Hermione had eaten, cleaned up and brushed her teeth and was settling into the comfortable bed.

Five minutes after that Hermione slipped into the kitchen and fixed herself a quick snack before crawling into the big comfy chair and pulling the massive tome (feather-light charmed) into her lap. A quick alarm spell later and she was once again immersed in comparisons between transfiguration and conjuration of inanimate matter.

Hours later the alarm went off and Hermione huffed in annoyance. She was more than half way through the sizable volume and gaining great insights into the subject matter... yet she knew quite well the dangers of messing with her schedule.

Pulling on the long necklace, she took out her time-turner and carefully counted back eight hours. Waiting just a few moments she heard the door to the kitchen and went upstairs to bed. It was so much less complicated when she was alone in the house!

Startled awake, Hermione tried to get her bearings. She was in bed, and a quick tempus later she was sure she was also quietly reading downstairs.  
So what was all the racket? Thinking quickly, the young witch realized she could not leave her room. She had to stay here until the time ran out and she returned to normal time.  
Earlier-Future-Library-Hermione would just have to deal with it.

Casting a few of her newly learned spells upon the door the noise stopped completely and Hermione resolved herself to get some rest.  
It took twenty minutes of meditation exercises before she could convince herself to let her... well, herself deal with it. Later.

. . .

The house was in chaos. What seemed like a dozen red-headed boys had invaded her quiet home – well, not her home – but the place she had found some measure of peace these last two months.

The 'war', if you could call it that, had been decidedly quiet ever since the last few attacks in November and those were mostly robberies. Tonight's meeting of the Order of the Phoenix was the first such in weeks. Molly and her brood had invaded Grimmauld place (Hermione knew who everyone was that came into the house, even if she only met them as a courtesy, she never forgot)

Hermione knew the Weasley mother, Molly, would be here to 'get things ready', the four children (three if you didn't count Percy said one of the twins) were to 'stay out of trouble'.

And thus the chaos. Hermione had been told very explicitly that she was not to use her wand unless under attack. Not even Harry was to know that she even Had a wand yet. Remus had even gotten her an Auror's hidden wrist holster and she carried her Vinewood wand everywhere now. The thrum of magic was pulsing through her arm as she held back her desire to Silencio the trio of boys who wouldn't stop taunting one another or sliding down the banisters and generally running amok.

Many times over the years Hermione had wondered if having a brother would have changed her life. Changed it for the better, of course – having someone who by default would want to protect and care for her.

Watching Ron Weasley with his twin brothers antics dispelled many of her assumptions. Brothers might just have been Worse than being an only child!

Moving back into the shadows, the bookworm closed the library doors and uttered a quick locking jinx. It wouldn't stop a wizard for five seconds, but it would hopefully keep the troublesome trio at bay.

Looking around the library she took in the holiday decorations. The room was decked out for Christmas and she could see presents under the tree for the dozen or so kids that remained as much in the care of the Black family enchantments as that of their nurses. They were the most traumatized, and yet the resilience of children was definitely showing in the way they were slowly coming out of their shells.

Hermione compared her own progress to that of the orphans. She knew that she had much to be thankful for. She remembered her uttered prayer and had decided that she would not let a day go by without making a point to say 'thank you', to who she did not know, but she felt that her prayer was clear enough should anyone be listening.

. . .

The alarm went off at the regular time and the young witch was once again stretching out her knotted muscles. Releasing the charm on the door the witch took out her necklace and began the process of sending herself back to her own time.

.o0o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Yes, a Time Turner. No, I probably didn't get the details correct. I'm not as concerned about Temporal Physics as I am moving the story forward, sorry if I dumbed it up too badly :P
> 
> Also there are quite a few things that are purposely left vague. How does Harry apparate? Where is Sirius? Etc... etc.  
> I'm happy to reply to your questions, I'm not guaranteeing I'll answer them, but I'll do what I can without giving away the plot.
> 
> This chapter's recommendation is a significant departure from the standard HP universe, but very much a Hermione centered series of fics. I recommend One Door Closes, Another One Opens by Vedra42.
> 
> Next chapter will cover the Granger family Christmas, but first, what does the Solstice have to do with getting Sirius back?
> 
> Also I'll reveal a little more of what Harry is up to and allow Hermione to show off a bit of what she's learned.
> 
> Update Notes: 12-26-13 added synopsis and the scene with the Time Turner being given to Hermione; 05/25/14 clarifications.
> 
> Blessings,  
> Majerus


	12. Lessons and Rituals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione gains in knowledge, yet needs to be taken seriously, for Sirius' sake!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I will be expanding on a few things already mentioned in Ch 11, I apologize in advance for the repetition. We will have a flashback and then move forward.  
> Comments, constructive criticsm and reviews are always welcome – and encouraging to yours truly.

Number 12 Grimmauld Place

Dec 18th, 1993

Hermione sat in the familiar sanctuary of the Library but she was unable to concentrate on her studies. The three tomes concerning her assigned topic sat untouched, she could not pull her thoughts from the ritual that would either mend or finally destroy the fragile hope that kept the house going. The house that she had come to think of as home.

She felt torn with the conflict over keeping things from Harry for these last weeks - well, little over one week by his time. She dwelt upon her one and only conversation with him, the day after Sirius had disappeared and he seemed so lost, so sad.

. . .

Hermione found the young man who was the unwilling Lord of the house in the kitchen. Dobby had told her that she should ask permission to read the books when the elf had found her in the Library. He'd also told her "Just call him Harry, 'Lord Black' does makes him sad."

"Uh, Harry?" the girl had almost whispered.

The boy shifted in his seat, some form of pastry sitting untouched in front of him. He did not meet her gaze, "Yeah?".

"Oh, I was just, that is I was told that I should ask before I use the library, but Sirius told me, that is, he gave me permission, so, would it, that is, can I?" Hermione wanted to kick herself. She could see the way the boy reacted when she mentioned the missing man's name, but it was true and she was so bored sitting outside for hours. She just didn't want Harry upset with her for getting into 'his books', if that's how he looked at things... she just didn't know.

He had at least looked her way finally. She couldn't read his expression, she had been right in her initial assessment, this young man was well used to hiding his emotions. Finally seeming to come to a decision, the boy got up from the table. "Yeah, sure, but just so you know, you may have some trouble with some of the books."

"Oh, what kind?" She was already walking back towards the library, happily surprised that he was speaking with her and not calling her a bookworm or...  _she really had to get over her hangups_!

Oblivious to her internal struggles, the green eyed boy followed.

Taking a quick, cleansing breath, the witch finished her fragmented thought: "What kind of trouble, I mean, or is it the books?"

A ghost of a smile lit his features for a moment, then was gone. "Nothing bad, I mean Si, he, uh."

Harry took a deep breath in through his nose, then let it out slowly through his mouth. He repeated the action twice more and it almost seemed as though he'd forgotten she was there. Hermione wondered at the way he used the same breathing exercise she had been taught when dealing with stress.

Continuing down the hall, he finally spoke, his voice lower and thicker. "Sirius removed all of the really nasty stuff - the dark magic and ones that bite Muggleborns and the like."

She still wasn't used to this. The very idea of magic was still so new. The casual way this boy went on about biting books just reinforced how very different their worlds were.

"What I meant is that you won't necessarily be able to take down many of the books. Sirius explained it to me years ago; it's one of the old family spells to keep kids out of trouble. A book will only let you take it down if you are magically ready for the contents."

Harry stopped dead in his tracks just inside the library door.

Stacked on the long reading table were over 20 books, the gaping hole in the shelf to one side proof of their origin.

"Sorry," the girl blushed. "These all looked so interesting, does that mean I can read them?"

Harry only nodded dumbly, eyes a bit wide as he passed her. "Sure." He paused to shake his head a bit, "no problem, I guess," then turned to walk back to the kitchen.

"Harry," the young witch called, a bit of a plea in her tone. "I'm really sorry. For what happened, I'm so very sorry." She looked up just as the boy looked away, the stoney visage she had glimpsed told her that he was a long ways from forgiving her or her father.

A few minutes later the floor once again reverberated with Harry's 'practice'.

He hadn't given her the chance at another conversation since, though to be fair, she had not made any further special efforts.

. . .

The very next day Remus Lupin arrived and began Hermione's magical education. He had received a note from Sirius asking him to come evaluate a refugee for special tutoring. Although he still taught DADA at Hogwarts, he was also giving lessons at the two refugee houses that had school aged children.

What he found in Hermione was a student more willing and adept than anyone he'd known since his own school days. She had spent almost every waking hour in the library, excepting the two hours a day she helped with the little ones and the three times per week that she was 'forced' to go running with either Tonks or Remus in the early morning hours.

Her discovery that Remus was something of a 'health nut' and enthusiastic runner was balanced by the consistent grumbling of Tonks about it being 'too early to be awake'. The young Auror mostly ran because she had been forced to since being taken under Moody's wing as an Auror recruit. Hermione did notice that Tonks didn't once complain when the three of them ran together once a week.

She wished she could say the same when they decided to teach her how to fly. The young woman had wonderful visions of flying like Superman, even Mary Poppins method of flight would have been preferable. But  _brooms_?

Hermione had freaked out a bit when they gave her flying lessons on what she couldn't stop thinking of as a cleaning tool. Both of her coaches tried to excite her with descriptions of how free she would feel, how different the world was from on high. She was much happier to strive for that 'runner's high' gained after an hour in the park instead. Recalling how she first learned about that feeling gave her pangs of memories of her runs with James, who now thought her dead.

Shaking physically and mentally away from the miserable thought, she focused on the good. During those runs she had become a little closer with her instructors. Tonks was a whiz at Charms and taught rudimentary magical first aid, Potions and Herbology. Remus was amazing at Transfiguration and DADA and would eventually introduce her to Astronomy, Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures. Both instructors taught her Wizarding History, both ancient and more current and how it mixed with 'muggle' history. Both also taught all classes with the principles of wandless magic as it was decided by the unofficial couple that teaching her wandless magic before she was told it was 'hard' would make it easier. They needn't have worried.

It was Hermione's discovery just over a month before the Solstice that gave Remus his first real hope since he'd heard the Headmaster's evaluation of Sirius's condition.

.o0o.

Hermione was endlessly curious and in her reading she had come across the mention that some dates and times were more important than others, especially with regards to Magic.

In her subsequent research she found that the Winter Solstice was particularly auspicious for rebirth and renewal, and had asked Remus if they were going to bring Sirius back on that day.

Remus had almost choked at the girl's insight, revealing everything in the words "how did you know?" before he could stop his amazement.

How she knew was due to an unlikely collaboration between herself and the Weasley twins. (The twin's had lent her a prototype of something they called 'extendable ears' in exchange for any 'intel' she could obtain while she used them.) Within a week of beginning her research Hermione had found mention of a House Magic that fit the description of what she had 'overheard'. The adults liked to conduct 'secret meetings' of their Order of the Phoenix in the kitchen at Number 12 and she took full advantage of this fact. She might have felt somewhat guilty about breaking the rules but the fact of her age being their only reason for denying her aid rubbed her the wrong way as she was the one who found the text regarding the Vault.

From that point forward the girl had put all of her 'free time' into researching the best means of retrieving Sirius from wherever he was.

She had spent weeks pouring through the Black family library - and had both Kreacher and Dobby working on finding the research books for her. Hermione had to suppress a snort - the memory of the first time she had requested help of the mean-eyed little elf was a mix of comedy and terror. She thought Kreacher was actually going to curse her in his revulsion. Then she had said those magic words: "This might free Sirius".

He was never kind like Dobby, never even close to polite really, but he was very knowledgeable of where all the 'other' books were kept, yet careful to never give her anything truly Dark. Either that or Sirius had destroyed/moved them all.

If the scrawny elf would just stop referring to her, Harry and most of the Order as 'blood traitors' under his breath (but loud enough for everyone to plainly hear), he'd be much more pleasant to have around. Now that she thought on it, she wondered why the nasty tempered Elf avoided Harry and spoke so ill of him. Shouldn't he be bound to respect the young man who was his Lord? When she had time she'd have to do more research on House Elves and...  _focus_.

Putting together other clues, Hermione's curious mind came up with some startling revelations:  
Harry never once did that neat teleport trick again since the day he'd evicted then returned them to his home. (Her father had actually threatened to leave if Harry didn't stop apologizing every time he saw them). Instead he always stumbled in using the floo, grumbling every time, and he always walked up and down the stairs to the forbidden basement... if he was able to jump around the house as he'd shown that one day, why wouldn't he keep doing so?  
He didn't throw parties like she saw the Malfoy's were doing in the Prophet, which was likely just due to Harry's personality and the sense of loss that hung like a pall over the Black house.  
Also, she never saw him in those fancy robes again, though the pictures in the Prophet showed Draco wearing similar dress robes to every event that he lavishly threw and the few he attended.  
Harry didn't seem to use the house as anything more than a private place to exercise his frustrations. He never slept here, barely took a meal a week and seemed to generally avoid Number 12 altogether.  
He never once ordered Kreacher to do anything (at least in her presence, and you could hear voices quite clearly throughout the bottom floor); instead he asked politely and even then it was always couched within terms of keeping the Black family home in good shape. Never once did the Lord ask anything for himself, or even the guests.  
None of this was conclusive, and even Hermione's pestering inquisitiveness could not find a real conclusion to these facts. Still, she had the strangest feeling that Harry was not the true Lord of the house, which led her to believe that Sirius was still alive.  
The fact that they had never conducted any form of burial or funeral was inconclusive as she had no idea how magical society did things.

Any one of which were hardly of consequence, but when listed out they added up, at least to Hermione's thinking.

She was shocked when she asked Minerva about it and discovered that many magical folks practiced the same religious beliefs as the Muggles, and that Minerva herself was Presbyterian. She did mention that what Muggles termed "Wiccan" and "Druidism" was much more strongly represented faiths among Magicals. The Professor volunteered that the 'Old Ways' were banned by the Wizards Council, the predecessor to the Ministry, but that it had happened so long ago that Minerva wasn't even sure why.

This discussion led to questions, of course, as McGonnagal was just as inquisitive as the younger witch. Minerva further confirmed Hermione's research about the Ancient Houses having a Rule of Hospitality that went back to the dark ages. When Hermione revealed that she had 'overheard' some plans to free Sirius, and, based on that information she had done 'a bit' of research...

Minerva was no fool, she knew straight away that 'a bit' of research to Hermione was probably a full term paper's worth.

Thus it was that with only a scant week to go before the turning of the season that Hermione was knotted up in feelings of conflict. She could see the distress on the boy's face as he sat at the kitchen table those rare days he came to "practice". She'd also caught not just a few whispers of how the young lord had become 'unstable'. Why didn't the Headmaster let her tell him of their plan, or tell of it himself?

Because it was Their plan - Hermione's and Professor Dumbledore's.

If Dumbledore's supposition that the Malfoy House Magic had protected Lucius instantly when the explosion happened, then it stood to reason that the Rule of Hospitality might have saved Sirius as he was a prisoner under Lucius's protection. The problem was that the wizard calling himself Voldemort had apparently escaped the blast using that same Rule to bend the House Magic to protect him as well.

The fact that Bill had detected a magical construct deep under the rubble of the Malfoy home - covertly, of course - only reinforced their hopes. Hermione's find showed a ritual that would whisk the Lord of the House, his family and guests of his choice away to a magical Vault in the case of an attack upon the home. Since the explosion gave so little time, and the rest of the family was not in danger, it stood to reason that only Lucius, and his Guests, would have been saved.

In the meeting, Dumbledore had outlined the problems with getting to Sirius; they were three fold:

1) The Vault was still under Malfoy's House Magic.  
The young Malfoy Scion had reportedly not been able to claim his Title, and though this supported their theory that Lucius was still alive, it also presented them with the problem of freeing Sirius without freeing Voldemort. Not to mention the fact that they would be in the middle of a potentially hostile Ancient House's magic, not something to be trifled with.  
Additionally the wing was under construction - the boy had ordered repairs started the day after the explosion.

The young witch had not found anything thus far that helped her understand this problem, let alone providing a solution for it. While she understood why Draco had to pretend to assume the appearance Malfoy Lord – though lessons with Tonks about Ancient families and their effects upon society. (Hermione would be horrified to learn that this was a lesson no Hogwarts student received in History of Magic).

She still had trouble understanding the motivation of the boy to be so garish in his displays of wealth and power that had started one week to the day after his father's "funeral", which was itself an epic affair if the Prophet's four page spread was any indicator.

2) The Malfoy Scion had no reason to want to free Sirius Black - and if Harry's reports were true, his classmate was reveling in the power of Lord of House, even if it was in theory not practice.

Harry himself had supposedly been keeping his Ascension a secret, though tales to the contrary were troubling the Deputy and Headmaster both. Therefore they would need to be invited into the home to get by the wards.

Since it was not unusual for Sirius Black to snub (and be snubbed by) Wizarding society, his absense from the public eye was only slightly longer than average. Harry would still never be invited to any parties by Draco, even if he were not directly associated with the Malfoy's hated enemy/family, the Blacks.

3) The magic necessary required a specific number of participants, both on site and in the Black Manor as it was the seat of the family magic. They could count on Harry doing his part, but the ritual would require at least two people on site to focus the magic through the ritual.  
How were they going to get those people past the wards and into the newly re-constructed area of the Malfoy Manor no less?

Hermione had already found a way past the third problem: The Malfoy's were throwing a Winter Solstice Party. Harry had been overheard complaining about Draco using his status as Head of House to get out of school two days early to prepare for his own party.

If she were to go to the Party as a French witch, she could be one of those who cast the spell on site. She knew it was well within her capabilities, having researched the ritual in it's entirety.

The fact that she was under the protection of House Black should give her some tie to Sirius, which would only increase the effectiveness of the spell. She'd also heard enough by eavesdropping to know that Tonks was an excellent infiltrator, in addition to being a blood relative of the Black family, making her another excellent candidate.

Now how could she get all of this information - gathered mostly by clandestine means - in front of the adults without them shutting her down before she got started because she was 'too young'?

.o0o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Still much to come – and it's written, just needs revising. I have no Beta, so all mistakes are mine and I'll be happy to correct those you point out – flames however will be deleted.  
> Recommended reading is Hogwarts Battle School, by Kwan Li. This is a great take on Hermione as well as an excellent twist on an Alternate Universe Harry/Hogwarts... Everything!
> 
> So many thanks to those of you who have bothered to keep reading my little tale. Special thank you's to kunoichi for your review of Ch 11.  
> Fond thanks to my sis Thirst4light for pointing out a couple of holes in my logic.
> 
> Lastly my fondest thanks to my wife, Diana, for her reviews, but more importantly for her support and catching many of my worst mistakes. My work, as poor as it might be, is much better due to her time and patience.
> 
> Blessings,  
> Majerus


	13. The End of One Conflict

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione finally corners Harry, and they actually talk!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I hope you will endure a twinge of teen tension, it will pay off later. After some bumps in the road, of course!

December 20th

Number 12 Grimmauld Place

It was with only one day before the Solstice that she finally had a chance to speak with Harry. Hermione's other attempts to gain an advocate – speaking with Tonks and Remus – were both complete busts as both had come up with their own stubborn versions of "The adults will handle it, you're just a kid.", regardless of how nicely they phrased it. With her father away helping Arthur secure some of the muggle-born new homes before the holiday, she had no choice but to reach out to the most influential person left available.

As usual, Harry was not interested in conversation. That boy could hold a grudge! She was currently following him down the hall, trying to stop him before he disappeared into the basement.

"Just listen to me!"

The young wizard swung around so quickly Hermione almost collided with him.

He moves quick! Realizing that he was staring expectantly at her, she brushed some errant curls behind her ear and centered herself, remembering not to lecture.

"I have a plan, and old Gandalf even agrees that it's a good one."

She forged ahead, despite the flutter of hope she felt at breaking through his ever-present mask with her crack at Dumbledore. "Good enough that he's using it anyway. But I haven't been able to share all of what I know, or suspect, because... well, because. Well, you know what the Weasley twins are like, right?"

She'd done it! The mask didn't just slip, Harry Potter now stood before her fully gobsmacked. It took every ounce of self-control the young witch possessed not to laugh at his open-mouthed stare. The next second she had to reign in the indignation that grew from realizing that he must think her quite uptight: she now thought him to be astounded that she'd speak to the raucous boys. Then she had to keep from shaking her head to clear her thoughts and push forward. Sometimes her active mind even frustrated her.

Mindful of their location, she lowered her voice and continued, pleased that he leaned in a bit to hear.

"The twins gave me a way to listen in on the Order so I could keep tabs on, well, if they'd learned anything." She knew better than to bring up the name of the reason for this whole plan. "I've spent mon... well, a lot of time researching my ideas and I know I can make it work. Plus I know what the Order is planning and my ideas will only make theirs better. A lot better."

She'd gotten as much out as she dared without saying the name that brought Harry's memory directly to the who's and why's of his absence. His mask was back, but not entirely. There was curiosity in those deep green eyes, and more importantly she saw no sign of the barely restrained bitterness that was usually there on the rare occassions when their eyes met over these last two months.

"So, will you listen to me?" She prodded, aware that they were just steps away from the kitchen, a place situated near the main hall, the stairs and the entry – hardly ideal for a confrontation, let alone spelling out secrets.

He nodded. It was not much as agreements go, but then he looked around. He jerked his head as he moved past her down towards the library. She almost felt offended at the thought that he would assume she would want to go there, but it was a logical place to talk privately having only one entrance. She really needed to work on her hang-ups.

She noted the way that he swept the room with his eyes as they entered. Besides the few little ones that could turn up almost anywhere, the aforementioned Weasley's were frequent guests and roamed freely.

More impressive to the young witch was that instead of locking or warding the door, Harry merely closed it. Then he led her to the back corner before casting any spells. Now free of sleeping bags and other signs of temporary boarding, the library furnishings were restored. The plush couch that sat opposite the floor-to-ceiling windows was large enough for them both without crowding.

Drawing his wand, Harry silently cast two spells. Hermione felt one of them settle over her and thought that she heard a slight buzzing around them before he captured her attention.

"I want you to know that I'm not angry with you. I am angry about a lot of... stuff. I'm just so tired of holding it in all the time at school that when I'm here I let my guard down. I wanted to get that out first. Now what is your super secret plan that you and the twins have cooked up?"

Hermione had to smirk a bit, both at his revelation and his assumption, mostly the former. After two months of him stomping past her to go downstairs and practically glaring at her the few times they'd shared meal times... perhaps he was trying to be diplomatic or set her at ease. Well, anyway she wasn't buying it. She also felt her temper flaring.

Another deep breathing exercise.

"The twins' involvement ended with helping me figure out a few schedules and of course these." She produced one of the long strings with the small, ear-shaped mass at the end.

"During my studies I discovered that certain times and dates have different effects on magic, which led me to find out that the Winter Solstice is a powerful time for renewal and, as such it would also lend power to freeing a trapped soul."

Harry's attention was quickly turned from examining the twins' device to stare once again at Hermione.

"That's what happened to him, his soul was trapped?" his voice was trembling, his eyes were wide and there was once again no mask on the boy in front of the young witch. She doubted she'd seen him this open since that night when he sat so brokenly apologizing to her and her father. "Why..." his voice trailed off, but then she could see the mask sliding back on even as he shook his head, though she didn't know what it meant.

"Go on". His voice wasn't steady, but he was listening.

"Between what I've read, overheard and talked about with Remus and Tonks, I, that is Dumbledore agrees with me, that Sirius was trapped in Malfoys' house magic when it responded to the explosion. Because an eye witness placed Sirius there – as Lord Malfoy's prisoner – it is believed that the Ancient House magic treated him as protected by the old Rule of Hospitality."

Hermione took a breath, trying but unable to really gauge Harry's response thus far. He wasn't shut down, but he had taken to looking towards the windows. It was clear that he was not looking outside. She just didn't know him well enough to understand the look he wore.

Pressing on, Hermione stood, more out of nervous energy than anything else. The buzzing noise intensified for a moment and then it was gone. She realized with the sudden return of the familiar house noises that so was the effect of the spell. Turning back she saw Harry giving her a look that clearly said 'sit down'; nothing to interpret there.

She sat back down, now realizing that their couch seemed to be in a bubble of silence.

"Sorry, bit nervous. This is the tough part." She forced her hands to fold in her lap as she sat sideways a bit to face him more, though her goof had at least brought his attention back to her. Now, under his scrutiny, she wasn't sure that was the way she preferred things.

After a deep breath in – and slowly out – she continued. "The thing is, the Order knows all of this and is planning on trying to get, him... out. That is, they have a plan, but it's not a good one."

He looked attentive, not dismissive or disbelieving. So far, so good.

"There are a couple of reasons they haven't tried to free up till now. First is that one other person was known to be there and be subject to the Old Rules when the explosion happened: Voldemort." It went without saying that with all of the bodies accounted for by the Aurors – and reported in the Daily Prophet – none matched the descriptions given of the supposedly returned Dark Lord.

Harry seemed to consider Hermione for a moment when she said the terrorist leaders name, though she was unsure as to why. She filed it away and continued.

"I heard that Bill Weasley scanned the wreckage that first day and he detected three very faint readings – not life forces so much as spirits – below the ruined structure. He was there covertly and they've never been able to get a group back in there since, due to the wards. The wards being the second reason - Malfoy Manor is protected by some old and powerful magic."

Harry began speaking as though picking up her thoughts. "I know they are doing a ritual, and it's tomorrow night, like you say. Dumbledore asked me to be a part of it a couple of nights ago, but he wouldn't give me any details. He's maddening that way."

"Min, uhm, Professor McGonagall gives me that idea when she speaks of him, though he seems to be too busy to do more than exchange pleasantries with me so far, but he seems nice enough... a bit like Gandalf." she smiled at the repeated joke, and was relieved as he laughed a bit and nodded.

He looked at her with genuine interest for the first time. "So what's different about your plan, since it sounds so similar to what I would guess they're doing already?" Harry leaned back a little, obviously watching Hermione closely as he waited for her answer.

She was prepared for this. Hermione knew all of the facts and she was confident in her conclusions. She also knew Harry was the only person capable of helping her convince the others to give her a chance.

"The Orders plan is to send Tonks to the party in disguise and Emmeline Vance has an invitation as a bit of a socialite. They will make their way to the basement where they have to find the spot above the Vault and setup for a ritual that requires two females."

Hearing Harry draw a breath, the young woman forged ahead, catching him off guard. "They will use a device that Dumbledore says will work through any wards to send a signal when they are ready. Then you and Dumbledore, among others, will simultaneously conduct the ritual here in the Black family seat which should free him."

Again Harry began to ask a question, this time Hermione went a step further by simply stating, "Not yet," before taking another settling breath and continuing. "The problems are that Emmeline may be a fairly powerful witch, but she has no direct connection to House Black. Furthermore she doesn't understand the nuances of the ritual – I know, I asked her, she hates arithmancy."

She heard him pause, felt the silence build and then finally forced herself to look at him. Once again her will was tested, this time to keep defiance out of her eyes before she knew his position. It was very difficult not to expect rejection. Yet another hang-up she was going to cross off of her 'problems list'. Someday.

But the eyes that considered her from a few feet away were not judgmental so much as considering. They seemed to be calculating as opposed to dismissing. She was startled to realize there was no small intelligence behind the eyes that were now a brighter shade of green with the light from the windows shining in on both of them. She felt her heart flutter a bit for an entirely unexpected reason and almost snarled at herself inside. What's up with that? I'm not going to be reduced to some giggling little girl just because a cute boy looks at me! She'd read extensively on what to expect from this... time in her development and was not impressed at all to learn how hormones could overcome rational thought if not carefully guarded against.

A deep breath in – and slowly out. She didn't break his gaze and yet she could feel a bit of sweat on her brow as the strain of controlling all of her roiling thoughts – and now emotions – began to demand some form of outlet beyond her cursed breathing exercises.

Thankfully he seemed to have reached the end of his side of the standoff first as he leaned back, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as he let out a long slow breath.

Hermione tried to stealthily wipe her forehead as she blinked away the dry-eye feeling. Another quick cleansing breath and she faced her – hopefully – ally. He hadn't opened his eyes yet as he rubbed methodically at the bridge of his nose. He looked deep in concentration, actually, and Hermione found herself wondering if she'd brought on a headache to the young wizard.

When he spoke, he sounded tired yet his voice was deliberate and strong. "Alright, I have a few questions that I'm not sure you'd know to prepare for. Don't be offended, I just don't know how much you know about the kind of people we're dealing with in the Malfoys. If I'm going to help you with this we can't go in without them answered." He opened his eyes as he sat forward, once again catching her eye, but this time he didn't stare so intently.

"Actually, first of all, what does your father say about all of this? I don't want him accusing us of anything again."

The edge in Harry's tone made it clear that he'd heard enough to know that her dad had been pretty rough in his first few hours here at Number 12. The fact that her father was not here, and would not be until the 22nd pretty much ruined her hopes of adult support.

Nodding vigorously to show she understood, Hermione explained that her father was working with Arthur on Order business, but he had given her his support so long as both Remus and Dumbledore were certain she would be safe. "They will have to send Arthur an Owl with their approval or the answer is no, was essentially his answer when I wrote to ask him."

Harry considered the young woman before him. All of this implied quite a bit of planning, he realized he needed to take this as seriously as she was. It took him no time at all to come up with another major obstacle to her her involvement.

"Alright, what do you know about 'Blood Purity'?" As Hermione launched into her extensive knowledge on the subject, both from a socio-political standpoint and the cultural ramifications, Harry Potter tried not to cringe.

"OK, OK!" he at least laughed a little, though there was some desperation in his voice. "I get that you understand a great deal on the subject, alright?" He lowered his head to gaze up at her, since she had reflexively lowered her own gaze.

"What I need to know is, and again, don't be offended, but how are you – a muggleborn – going to get into a party thrown by the Malfoy's, who actually have their wards keyed to point out non-Purebloods that come onto their property?"

Hermione's world seemed to freeze for a few moments. If the spell granting them a bubble of silence hadn't been in effect she still would not have heard anything around her as every synapse in her mind was firing towards one purpose.

Breathing was thankfully automatic, everything else stopped, including her arm which she had raised to reflexively brush some stray hair out of her face.

Harry started to get a bit nervous as the witch in front of him appeared to have just been Petrified. She seemed to have begun to bite her lip, an action he found strangely fascinating, when she simply froze in place! He'd seen no flash of the spell yet he instinctively reached for his wand even as he looked for an enemy in the large, oak paneled room. Cursing his reliance upon the alarm spell he'd cast he was just beginning the spell to reveal hidden enemies when the girls' sharp intake of breath followed by a shout of "I've got it!" just about caused him to fall off the couch as he spun back to face her.

The wand practically in her face had no effect upon her excitement as Hermione beamed a smile at the baffled looking boy. She processed his reaction and dismissed any threat, forging ahead with her rather clever solution.

The boy in question had to shake himself a little. Hermione was talking a mile a minute, hands waving in expressive gestures and curls bouncing around in her attempt to communicate something about reverse engineering spells. He found himself fascinated by the way the light played off of those curls and wondered why he'd never noticed how lively her eyes were. He realized that he found her quite lovely.

Hermione's steam was running out as the young wizard in front of her seemed to have zoned out, staring at her in what seemed to her to be a bit vacantly. "Uh, so, do you think that could work?"

Harry blinked once, a long, slow and he quickly realized what had to be a completely stupid looking blink. Using his long practiced classroom technique he rifled through his short term memories to push together enough information to answer intelligently enough to avoid detention – er, seeming like an idiot. More of one, that is.

"You looked up the spell used to test blood purity and saw the core elements could be reversed as a charm to fool detection, does that sound right?" he asked. His tone carried the confidence borne of years of covering his arse in dealings with both students and teachers, not to mention Sirius and Remus!

If her tentative smile was any indication, he hadn't exactly bluffed her, but she was nodding confirmation at least.

She knew something was off – perhaps he was distracted by another question, or maybe he really did have a headache? In any case he got the gist of her spell idea, though she felt a bit slighted that he didn't acknowledge any of the complexities involved.

Still, the spell work was out of her league - she had only come up with the idea - though she was confident in her theory at least. The actual blood purity detection spell was extremely simple, consisting of two main components. Reversing one of those components was basic arithmancy, practically beginners practice. Making a brand new charm however was something the young witch had no experience with. Given how critical it's success was to her 'mission', she wasn't about to go experimenting. At least not without more time.

If Tonks could help her with the practical part, she was sure that they could mask her 'blood status', at least for an evening. He had mentioned 'a few' questions, best get to the next one, besides she thought with a grin, this was fun!

"What else?"

Harry squinted a bit. Was this girl for real? She was quite obviously enjoying this, if he wasn't mistaken she looked like she was eager for another tough question. He smiled in answer to hers, finding her enthusiasm strangely addictive.

"Well, that was the toughest thing I can think of." He hid a smirk as he saw the obvious signs that she was disappointed. Yep, this witch definitely was unique! He suddenly realized she might just be a bit of a challenge. Too bad she wasn't at Hogwarts.

"The rest is all about convincing the adults that you can fit in, which will be no small task. You'll need a cover story, which can be helped along by Order members and you've obviously got the memory necessary to keep it straight, but can you improvise? Could you remain calm, pretending you belonged mingling in a large group of witches and wizards?" Her reaction made him immediately regret the question. She looked down quickly, trying to hide the dark look that passed over her face just briefly, but he had seen it clearly.

Harry considered the young witch before him with a bit of confusion. His spirit seemed to be dampened by her distress just as quickly as it had been lifted by her joy. He'd not spoken five words to the girl in the last seven weeks out of his own misery and immaturity. Now he was completely confounded by her, finally having let go of any lingering blame to look at her as he saw her now: a very pretty, obviously intelligent and curiously complex young witch who seemed to carry some heavy burdens.

"Yes." She answered quite simply, though she seemed distracted. Then, with an obviously forced calm, "I've done a bit of acting, getting through some tough times and dealing with ignorant classmates."

The silence that followed was borne of concern on Harry's part, but unfortunately Hermione couldn't know that. She sat up straight and once again looked up at Harry, but this time she looked past him. A habit she'd gotten into when avoiding conflict, she looked just to the side of his eyes, rather than into them.

"So," he started, trying to break the awkwardness. "Then, you'll need to know the differences in wizarding etiquette compared to, well, non-magicals I guess? I'm sure you can pick the basics pretty well, and of course you need to know how to dance?"

This last question was clearly said with a bit of embarrassment, though Hermione could not see what the cause would be. She remained a bit detached as though she was distracted and continued to stare a little above his left ear.

Nodding her affirmation, she continued in her too-calm tones. "I can waltz and know some folk dances, I was going to learn Latin and swing this semester." Her friends back at Wolfson college had been teaching her to dance in their irregular gatherings and had convinced her to sign up for her very first liberal arts elective – a dance class. Realizing that she had allowed her emotions to rise up again, Hermione resorted to another cleansing breath before she pushed away the hurt feelings that his question had unearthed.

The young witch hated how her moods affected her so much more lately, her steely self control seemed to have slipped over the last weeks without confrontation – except for Harry – or even anyone to avoid, since he avoided her. She had the sudden thought that she might just be making him nervous, instead of making fun of her.

Once she actually looked at Harry's face she knew that he wasn't laughing at her. In fact she was confused to see what looked like sympathy. Part of her appreciated the thought, but her practical side roared to the forefront.

She had some important people to convince that she was ready to do an undercover infiltration into a hostile location which would also be her very first real life exposure to a fully magical society. Now was not the time to be 'poor little Jean'. Now was the time to show that she was Hermione, a witch and a capable one!

Harry saw the change come over her features again, and again he marveled at the powerful way the small young woman could express emotions. For someone like him, who mostly hid his feelings, it was a bit overwhelming. He found himself sitting up straight again as she began to radiate confidence.

"Right," she stated with a small, but genuine smile, "what else?"

Thinking on it, Harry realized that he really missed Sirius at that moment. It was times like these, when he needed to plan something, that he knew he could turn to his godfather; though usually pranking was involved he thought with a small, wry smile. A smile he turned into a softer grin towards his new co-conspirator. "I think we need to take this to Tonks – you already need to talk to her about the blood purity charm."

She nodded quickly, glad that he had made the connection. "And she'll get Remus on board, and with both of them we can get Bill and that will get us Arthur once my dad approves. Depending on who is there, Kingsley, Hestia, and Moody will listen to reasoned arguments while Molly, Doge and Vance will follow whatever Dumbledore decides. Snape will do what is best for Snape.

Harry stared at the witch once again in open admiration. She really had a good grasp on the personalities he had come to know over recent years. "Lets get moving!" He stood, offering her a hand up as he canceled the charm around them.

Her shy smile as she took his hand made him grin in return. Harry's eyes widened then, but not from the strange feeling in his stomach but rather the tingle of magic as his alarm alerted him of someone approaching them. The wizard dropped the witch's hand a bit hastily and his stomach plummeted as he saw the smile fall from her face with his action. Crap!

Hermione squinted a bit at the boys' strange behavior. First he's giving her a goofy grin and she's feeling ridiculously warm over it, then she's holding his hand and she's barely containing a furious blush and then – bam – he's behaving like a typical little boy afraid of cooties or something, not that she'd had to worry about that so far.

"Sorry!" he whispered urgently, "someone's coming!"

Giving a small smile to show she understood as he handed her a book and stepped away from her, she knew she really didn't understand at all. Shaking her head, she realized that, like it or not, her uncontrolled feelings were definitely going to be a problem.

While Harry stared down the intruder, the young witch was too busy acknowledging what all the data she'd reviewed in her mind pointed to: Hermione Granger liked Harry Potter, and that realization terrified her. She hardly noticed the red-haired boy stride into the room, practically skid to a stop, turn beet red and then leave grumbling.

. . .

Ron Weasley scowled. He'd finally found the girl and of course he would have to be there with her.

The twins had been taunting him ever since they gave back his invitation to Neville's New Year's Ball, pointing out 'may bring a date'.

"As if ickle-Ronnikins could ever find a girl desperate enough!" Was their parting shot.

Ron had spent his time thinking (sulked for a few hours) until he'd remembered the one girl about his age that he could still ask. So he found her in her usual haunt in the library – but she wasn't alone.

They had been a ways apart when he found them, she was reading and Potter was looking up a him, lounging on the couch. But they were together, at least he thought so. Now, having stormed all the way back up the stairs, he wasn't so sure. She seemed rather engrossed in her book, not even noticing his entrance. Maybe she was ignoring Potter?

Remembering Harry in his fancy clothing only reinforced Ron's feelings of inadequacy. He determined that the first thing he needed to do was to make himself more presentable, then he'd wait for the Order meeting to begin – Harry always goofed off in the basement during meetings. Once Seven O'clock rolled around Ronald Weasley was going to give that little witch a chance to go to her very first Wizarding Ball! How could she resist?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Once again 'Beta-less', though with all the help my sis Thirst4light gave me with this chapter I may have to revise that :-) Also thanks go to my wife SmolderingJade for her tips and support.
> 
> Blessings,  
> Majerus


	14. Decisions, Actions and Consequences, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: For the purists among us: I do not pretend to know the full layout of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, so please allow for some artistic license if I don't get the details quite right.

7 pm, December 20th, 1993

Number 12 Grimmauld Place

Ronald Weasley had made up his mind. It was not an easy decision, but out of the many girls who would love to accompany him this New Years, he had his eye on only one witch. (Ron carefully ignored the fact that he hadn't asked anyone at school and now they were out for the Christmas holiday, stuck at Grimmauld Place while his Mum worked with the refugee kids either here or one of the other safe houses.)

He knew a bit about the girl from earlier encounters, having met her twice now. Ron had made a point of seeking out the muggle-born witch when he'd come to Number 12 twice in early November. She had been very quiet and shy, and he liked the way she was so impressed by the spells he had shown her.

Ron had felt terrible for all of the 'rugrats' filling the ancient old house. The young wizard thought himself quite sensitive, entertaining the young witch with the big sad brown eyes - along with quite a few younger kids who apparently stayed temporarily in the library itself.

He and the rest of the school-aged Weasley's had only been at the old house because Molly had wanted all of her children by her side to reassure herself of their safety. His Mum had never been the same since...

Shaking his head to avoid those thoughts, the lanky teen straightened his best button-down shirt. He glanced reluctantly in the mirror and smoothed down his dung brown hair – color courtesy of the Twins. The color-change was not visible to adults; this was a bit of spell-work that would be much more impressive to Ron if it were cast on, say, Perfect Prefect Percy, but his twin brothers seemed to have taken personal offense to him these last two years and he was no match for their trickery. Shaking off these troubles as beyond his understanding, he decided he was ready.

Picking up the family's hand-me-down copy of 'Standard Book of Spells, Year Two', he strode to the landing to head to the soon-to-be-lucky girl's favorite place: the library.

. . .

For almost twenty years – counting a roughly decade long break – the kitchen at Number 12 Grimmauld Place had served as the unofficially official meeting place of the Order of the Phoenix. Nobody had ever questioned the right of leadership of it's elder mage, Albus Dumbledore.

However, given it's nature as a secret paramilitary group, over the years many of it's members had endured various levels of scrutiny.

Only one other had been subject to worse interrogation than Hermione Granger, though a comparison to the dark eyed potions master would have given that witch no comfort. Nor would the fact that she wasn't being given such a hard time due to distrust – as had the aforementioned spy – but rather due to her youth. Actually, she would have preferred to confront distrust. Because of her youth she wasn't even present to defend her right to be there at all, let alone the merits of her ideas.

The lines had been drawn much as the young witch in question had predicted. In fact, the various members had even moved into separate groups, as though preparing for a more than verbal confrontation. Albus, Alastor and Severus still sat at the table, each with differing ways of expressing their waning patience.

Outside the room, sitting on the bottom steps in the gloom of the entry way, Hermione sat next to Harry. The co-conspirators were sharing a tiny ear-bud, the pinkish string trailing towards the nearby kitchen door. The sound quality produced when outside the ear canal was tinny and demanded that the pair be pressed close together to catch what was said by the adults.

A similar frown showed on both faces as they struggled to get anything useful from the discussion Hermione had just been ushered out of. The teens heard either indecipherable murmurs as each side debated among themselves, or loud bursts with too many voices speaking at once for either of the listeners to understand any single speaker.

Their frustration levels were high, Harry's seemingly feeding off of the emotions practically roiling within the upset young witch. She had barely been allowed to give her carefully worded explanation – and even that had taken both Tonks and Remus' strong and vocal support. Still, the two teens listened intensely, hoping to get some idea of how things would turn out.

. . .

As Ron approached the stairs he considered the idea of giving the girl a book. He wanted to make a good impression, and giving her a book of spells to study seemed like a good choice since he knew she obviously loved to read and was new to magic. He only hoped that second year spells were not too advanced for her, since she hadn't been to school yet. He couldn't give her the family's hand-me-down book of first year spells... but he didn't want to think on that.

He had learned that the girl studied with Professor Lupin after overhearing some talk between his Defense teacher and the Auror, Tonks, that came up to the school sometimes with Potter.

_Ugh. Harry Potter, "the Boy Who Lived"_. More like "the boy who got away with anything". From Ron's more objective point of view, his wealthy classmate was just as slick and guilty as his godfather. The teen was already grimacing from his dark thoughts when he arrived at the head of the stairs where he looked down to see the object of his ire... right next to the object of his desire. Very much next to, as in, bodies pressed together and heads – well they were cheek to cheek, weren't they?

Peering into the gloom of the first floor landing, he decided that they must be snogging. His blood pressure sky-rocketed and the infamous Weasley temper was displayed for anyone who knew him as his ears turned a uniform shade of bright red.

Deciding what he needed right then was a sandwich, he proceeded to move down to the kitchen as quickly – and loudly – as he could. He wouldn't even look at them in passing, and if she was embarrassed... _'what was that flash of light_?'

. . .

Two separate - and unplanned - responses to Ronald's impulsive behavior were soon to make this a much worse night for the angry young man.

First, the green-eyed boy who was the target of his jealousy had a nearly instinctive hatred of the sound of someone stomping down stairs. It was this blend of currently tense emotions combined with childhood trauma and recent years of trained muscle-memory that resulted in Harry twisting around towards that noise, wand drawn and spell already finishing as he aimed. The heavy-footed intruder's features were obscured by lighting from above, but this same quality of light made them an easy target, outlined as he was from behind.

Second, the brown-haired 'stomper' had two other problems in the form of his twin brothers who had been observing the pair of teens from the third floor landing. Since both twins were in agreement that the "young couple" were too cute to disturb, their own Weasley tempers were ignited by their little-brat-brother's behavior. As one they executed a well practiced ambush the likes of which had been seen at least a hundred times on the many stairways in a castle far to the north. Their concentration was such that they completely missed Harry's near simultaneous reaction two floors below.

The combination of spell effects had immediate and loud consequences, which the three casters would not have believed had they not witnessed it themselves.

Hermione was a much less reactive type of person and so it was she who turned to see the results after the cacophony of combined spell-effects washed over her. She only had time to wince before her new ally had her up and running down the hallway. Her errant thought of how strong Harry must be to half-carry her was thrust aside even as she was thrust into the hall bathroom. He closed the door quietly behind him and turned to face her, seemingly shocked to find her face inches from his.

She was now completely occupied with the fact that she was squeezed into a rather small place with the object of her recent and sudden distraction. It was a testament to how her emotions were ruling her intellect that she never once worried about the abandoned listening device.

The twins, long time masters of The Excuse, reacted like the semi-professional pranksters that they were and waited until they were a whole floor and three doors away – one of them privacy charmed – before breaking into hysterical laughter.

. . .

"Quiet!" Albus spoke evenly, though confidently, and those few who hadn't heard the sound of spell-fire abruptly ceased making noise as first Severus, then Remus went to flank the door, wands drawn. Tonks – the only blood relative of Sirius present – closed her eyes and shortly shook her head. "The wards have not activated, it must be the twins."

The tension in the room reduced visibly as shoulders relaxed and several drawn wands were put away. It may have been over a month since the last attack by a 'death eater', but the subject of tomorrow's mission had everyone tense even before the heated debate had consumed the last five minutes.

Remus opened the door but then looked back in, "Tonks, help. Albus, summon Pomfrey, Ron's been... attacked?"

Severus strode through the door then, still warily looking about. "You sound less than sure, Lupin," he began in a drawl, then stopped to pick up the long pink string that led back to the door. The small receiver end was only feet away from Ron's sprawled and... unfortunate appearing form.

Picking it up with his practiced disdain, the potions master peered down at the small, pinkish-ear in his hand. "Perhaps the culprit is the eavesdropper himself? I've never encountered this device before. No doubt the twins will be responsible for it's manufacture, though given this dunderhead's academic record he probably tried additional spells on it and..."

Snape's usually sour expression seemed to actually form a bit of a compassionate grimace – if only briefly – as he gazed at Ron there at the base of the stairs. "Did that," he finally finished, as if the usually eloquent wizard just couldn't come up with anything that fit.

Meanwhile, Tonks had examined the boy and shook her head. Turning to Dumbledore, she spoke with authority that showed her profession. "I know the meeting is important, but I think he better go to the Accidental Spell Damage ward, no offense to Poppy."

She looked at Remus, "You take him, I'll get Molly."

Remus looked relieved with the assignment, or at least relieved not to be the one fetching Molly. "She'll be at the Crosby House," with that information, Albus stepped forward and created a port-key for the wizarding hsopital, moments later the lycan and unfortunate boy were gone.

Turning to Severus, Tonks pinned him with her gaze. "You know the facts. Remus and I vote to use Hermione's ideas – and help – in the ritual."

She was moving to the entry floo when his silky voice caught her, even as he handed her the pink string and ear. "Take the device, it may help with their diagnosis. Oh, and I'll note that you vote for the mongrel now." She didn't have time to analyze the nuances of his tone – was he merely mocking her or was there some underlying message? Everyone knew Tonks pursued the older man's affections, so why... her musings were carried away with her as her voice rang out "Crosby House" and she vanished in a flash of green flames.

. . .

In the attic the twins were pouring over their homework, wands cleared of incriminating evidence, alibi's firmly established. They needn't have worried – at least not for another hour.

. . .

In the hall, just thirty feet from the base of the stairs, two teens were perched awkwardly against opposite walls.

A quick discussion ensued about who was on the stairs and what had happened to him.

"Ron Weasley based on the hair color, but as to what happened... I dunno," Harry eloquently explained. At the girl's clear huff of annoyance he endeavored to come up with a better answer. "I didn't see his wand, but if I had to guess I'd say it was accidental magic from my spell hitting something he was casting?"

His tone was unsure which told Hermione that pursuing her thirst for details would not get them any further. She reigned in another 'huff', instead changing directions, "Do you think he'll be alright? He looked..." How could she describe it?

"Between Dumbledore, Snape and Lupin they've got some amazing minds out there with him by now. He'll be fine." They had both heard the voices in the hallway before Harry repeated his privacy spell. Of course he'd been compelled by the small witch to teach it to her almost immediately.

Harry had been pleased at her thirst for learning spells, but he'd been blown away by how quickly she picked up the details and successfully replaced his own spell on the door.

An awkward silence descended, and for an interminable few minutes they stood not staring at one another.

Then Harry had first used, and then been forced to teach, a cooling charm. The small room had quickly became a bit uncomfortable with two nervous bodies crammed into it, but a few incantations later both teens were grinning.

Hermione couldn't help but gush, "Magic is _so_  cool!"

Harry laughed quietly at the combination of her pun and (he thought) adorable enthusiasm. Quickly reigning in his laughter, he smiled brightly at the grinning young woman in front of him.

"What?" she asked, immediately self-conscious with a boy smiling and staring at her.

His eyes widened as he quickly replied, "Nothing bad, actually, I was just thinking how nice it is to find someone who thinks magic is, well, 'cool'." Another snicker followed by an answering grin. "There are a few other muggle-borns in my class, but I'm so busy I don't get much time to hang out with them, and only one is in my study group, but she's a 'Claw and she's bought into the 'mystique' so she doesn't show wonder anymore."

"OK, hold on," she laughed, reviewing the deluge of information. "First, is school really that demanding, I mean, Academically?"

"Well, yes and no," he smirked at her small huff. "Really it depends on what you want out of it and what you put into it. For instance I'm taking a few electives, so I have a lot more work than, say, our loud friend out there, who is barely doing the minimum work for the required classes."

Nodding as much to herself as to him, she ticked off the next item on her mental list, "By 'Claw', you mean Ravenclaw, correct?" Seeing his nod, she continued, "what do you mean 'mystique'?"

Another answering smile, though this one faded as his gaze grew thoughtful, finally his brow furrowed a bit and Hermione thought he looked so cute like that. _Argh! Enough with the hormones!_

"What's wrong?" he asked, and Hermione realized she must have grimaced in her frustration over her lack of self-control.

"Nothing, go ahead, please?" Her tone was a bit pleading, as though asking him to drop the inquiry as much as to continue, so he did.

"Each house has a bit of an attitude, a personality and an image. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, for instance, are both seen as 'light' houses, as though only good wizards are produced by them. My parents were betrayed by a Gryffindor so that's tripe in my book. Conversely, Slytherin is seen as 'dark', especially due to the fact that many dark lords have been from that house, including the most recent – and possibly returned – Voldemort."

Hermione once again noted that Harry seemed to peer at her a little more intently when he said that name. "What are you looking for?", she interrupted.

Surprise dominated his features for a moment, then that grin was back and she felt the appreciation in that gaze. She didn't even try to stop the blush that crept up her cheeks.

"You're pretty quick, aren't you!" It wasn't a question, and the praise in that statement made her heart double-tap a bit, then he was answering her. "There are very few people who don't freak out when they hear that name. Some even whimper, and a few have berated me when I've said it. Even some of the Order members are afraid of it – but from what... well, when Sirius taught me about the first war against Voldemort, he said that there was plenty of reason to fear his name."

Hermione had not seen the darkness in his eyes for a few hours now and was sad to see it return so quickly. She was equally happy to see his features relax as he took in and released a few long breaths.

"You do it too," she chimed, "the breathing exercises." She steeled herself and kept her voice even as she opened up a bit. "I learned it from a counselor, after my mum passed, to help when stress gets too much."

He answered with a thoughtful nod, and they were both quiet for a moment.

Harry cleared his throat, then looked up from under his bangs. She saw the raw emotion in his eyes before she heard it in his voice. "I'm really sorry, about your mum, and your house, and the terrible way I've treated –"

She found herself squeezing the young wizard in one of her impulsive hugs, like she used to give to her father when he made her very happy or she thought he was terribly sad. Hermione hadn't even thought about it, and now she was somewhere between really unsure of what to do next and positive that she didn't want to let go right away. When his arms tentatively wrapped around her back in answer, she let out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. _This wasn't so bad, this 'comforting' thing_ , she realized.

"Thank you," she stated, her voice muffled against his chest and buried under her curls.

Pushing back, they released from their embrace with the mutual embarrassment of youth and yet both had small smiles underneath their small blushes.

"Friends?" Harry asked. The question was simple enough, and his bright-eyed-grin clearly conveyed his sincerity. Still, it took Hermione's considerable will to ignore the mean-spirited voice that shouted warnings even as she shook his outstretched hand, if briefly. Her smile answered his in reflex. She had a friend!  _Calm yourself, you're not a silly girl_! She cleared her throat and stepped back the one pace to her side of the small room.

"Now," her business-like tone was softened by her smile, "You were telling me about Slytherin and the other houses?"

Suddenly both teens stiffened as a small flash of grey light came right through the door, seeming to fade into each of their heads. Their mutual nods confirmed it, they'd both just received a rather clear summons from Minerva McGonagall.

. . .

Hermione had never been so nervous before any of her exams or as frustrated after one. She had been asked a series of questions by several Order members and was a bit sad to see neither Remus nor Tonks was present. She was equally baffled when Severus Snape of all people defended her. The dour man interrupted when Emmeline Vance became snippy at Hermione's factual assessment of why the stately witch was not a good choice for the ritual.

Though all he said was, "Give the girl her turn," the young witch was emboldened by the support. She thought Minerva's shocked look was particularly interesting, if not outright amusing.

Through it all the old wizard sat at the head of the table, his eyes twinkling madly, only giving the occasional 'now now', or, 'lets move on', when questions turned into arguments.

Moody seemed almost bored, staring into his small glass of some brownish liquid, but Hermione knew he was watching her - and likely everyone else - with that magical eye of his.

With only two of the remaining adults in obvious opposition, Hermione's confidence grew. She felt that her simple, factual information combined with clear and concise answers to questions would lead to a quick and decisive agreement.

Instead she watched as seven adults devolved into circular arguments that always boiled down to the fact that Hermione was only fourteen. That was only after thinly veiled personal insults between a few of the members, mostly over issues that probably were older than she was.

After a full ten minutes of this Hermione stood up, her chair scraping loudly helping to silence the Diggle-Vance-Doge version of 'Yes you did/no I didn't'.

"You have something more to add, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore's voice smoothly filled the silence.

Snape raised an eyebrow and Minerva glared at Emmeline's not so quietly grumbled 'rude child'.

"You have the facts. My blood status can be concealed, Auror Tonk's charm was confirmed by Professor Dumbledore himself. I have explained the complexities of the ritual's placement dependent on how far below the floor the Vault it is and the relative triangulation of the location to the basement of Number 12 – which will require Arithmatic calculations that Miss Vance admits lacking the skills to perform. Auror Tonks has already admitted her similar deficiency in the subject yet she is clearly a critical member of the team for her other skills. I may not have done the coursework, but I've been studying constantly for... awhile now, and have also demonstrated to Professor Dumbledore that I am capable of performing the work needed."

She was pleased to see that no one had interrupted, and forged ahead while she had the initiative.

"Additionally I have demonstrated that I can speak French as a native which will fit with the cover that Miss Vance was going to provide Tonks as a foreign relative considering a transfer to Hogwarts. I can demonstrate the limited spell knowledge necessary to this task: privacy and alarm charms, a basic confundus and the disillusionment spell." (She didn't bring up that she had learned three of these spells just this afternoon after she and Harry had gotten Tonks on board this very morning. The privacy charm was newer still, and she tamped down the blush that it's memory evoked.)

"I've learned the basics of the stunner and protego, and I understand that Auror Tonks would be the one doing the actual defending should it come to that. In addition, the Headmaster has provided a Portkey which will overcome the Malfoy wards should we be forced to flee."

Leaning forward, the young witch ignored everyone else present and stared right into the twinkling blue orbs at the head of the table.

"Your current plan only exists partly because of my research. I've spent the last month focused on finding and solving problems with it, honing the math and learning every detail I could about House Magic, which leads me to one more reason I'm an asset you cannot afford to dismiss."

Standing upright, Hermione spoke loud and clear: "Kreacher."

A moment later the old house elf stood next to the young witch, his attention solely focused on her.

"Lord Black's honored guest calls and Kreacher answers, what does guest needs?"

Hermione knew that this was a critical juncture, but she did take a moment to enjoy the small victory: the silence around the table was almost as priceless as the lack of a twinkle in the old wizards widened eyes.

The twinkle that was back in force as he smiled brightly. "Well done Miss Granger, please excuse us?"

The almost casual dismissal felt like a punch in the gut to the teenager, she turned back to the small fellow by her side and politely smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Thank you for your prompt response Kreacher, you are a credit to House Black. Could you please let Harry know I'll meet him in the library?"

The elf made no grumble, which was another surprise to everyone present. Then he did something none of them could believe had they not seen it, he inclined his head – every so slightly – as he spoke. "Kreacher does it," and popped out. No insults. No disparaging remarks about the two half-bloods at the table, let alone answering a muggle-born to begin with!

She exerted vicious self-control over every fiber in her being as she calmly walked out the door and closed it quietly behind her. Hermione was down the hall to the library door before conversation resumed. Which wasn't surprising given the way so many of those seated had almost appeared to have been petrified. She walked into the library to await the decision with her new friend.

.o0o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm going to have to stop saying "no Beta" and give credit where credit is due: Many helpful corrections and valuable insights were given by my sister, and my wife. That I have been able to give three chapters in three weeks is at least somewhat due to their patience, time and thoughtful help.
> 
> . . .
> 
> Unfortunately, due to a 63 hour work week (bad) followed by a weekend full of family (got to see my 1 month old Granddaughter, so Good) I am very late with this chapter. Chapter 15 is written and being final-edited this weekend, baring unforeseen circumstances (or Nargles). Thanks for your understanding.
> 
> Blessings,  
>  Majerus


	15. Decisions, Actions and Consequences, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: For those who have read it already, I've adjusted Ch 14 to explain that Ron (and the other Weasley kids) stay at Grimmauld semi-regularly due to the fact that their parents are heavily involved in taking care of the refugees from the Night of Terror. Molly much more so than Arthur; though if you'll recall, the patriarch is currently away looking for houses for said refugees with Mr. Granger.

7:30 pm, December 20th, 1993

Behind the kitchen walls, Number 12 Grimmauld Place

For House Elves the family name did not just signify a place to live and work, it signified their identity. When speaking of a particular House you may be identifying it's current Lord or Lady; thus House Black referred to Sirius Black as far as the wizarding public were concerned (not to mention Kreacher's point of view). Mentioning a specific House might also refer to the family as a whole as well or perhaps the financial and political power of that family.

The Black family line ran far enough back into history as to have it's very own set of traditions and lore. This of course had an effect upon it's servants; House Elves who served House Black were fanatical even by House Elf standards. It wasn't just a prestige or honor thing to them, it was the very way they thought and it affected every moment of every day they served their House.

For the Black family House Elves, one of those traditions was observing the guests of the House, both to collect information for the House as well as to learn as much as possible to anticipate the needs of their guests.

For a House Elf, there was no greater pleasure than to serve their Master before the Master's themselves even knew what they wanted. However, to show up with a full tea service as the conversation in the room turned towards the subject of food meant planning as well as fore-knowledge of the preferences and habits of the guests.

. . .

Kreacher listened carefully as the meeting played out in the room beyond one of his many observation points in the ancient home. He heard the silence after the mudblood left. His mind thought along different lines than wizards so he did not appreciate the silence for what it was: disbelief.

He wrung his long-fingered-hands nervously as he considered his gamble: he had placed a lot of trust in a creature he hated – a dirty blooded witch. But he had had no choice.

She had come to him while he was performing his duties – seeking him out while he was working was degrading to both of them; only a mudblood would not know that House Elves pride themselves on working unseen. His lip curled as he recalled how she had praised him and tried to ask questions about his tasks.

A Black family Elf needed no praise, gaining an immense sense of fulfillment from service, but the mudblood didn't know that. What she did know – what that filthy little witch knew when nobody else did – was that Kreacher  _needed_  to serve his House.

She had also figured out that Harry was not truly the Master of House Black. When the House Magic felt the absence of a living Master, it sought the next closest living Wizard with Black heritage. It was true that the Master had done the blood ritual with the boy when he turned eleven. So when the House felt the Black's noble blood flowing through the boy's veins – regardless of how tenuous – it acknowledged that blood as it's Master.

But Magic couldn't think. It couldn't know the Heritage of the child that the Master had slipped into the family tree. Kreacher served the House and believed that the Master could be 'helped' to return to 'right thinking', but the boy... Kreacher knew that the boy was unclean, and he could not allow the boy to pollute his House.

The ancient Elf was just happy that the child had not tried to claim Lordship. Though the pretender was compelled to bond with the House Magic at least once a week, he did not  _use_  that magic, so the bond was as weak as it could be without damaging the process. Kreacher was aware that should the Potter boy not continue the bond, he would die. And so would House Black.

Kreacher did not know what he would have done had the boy tried to Ascend. It made him a little twitchy when he thought of such things, so think of them he did not. Just as he did not think of how low he had stooped in showing deference to such a filthy mudblood just moments ago.

The manipulative filthy blooded witch knew what Kreacher wanted and she made a Vow to help as much as she could in return for his help. He reluctantly respected her commitment to his Master even as he washed every surface she touched after she left a room. The old Elf was only living for the day when his Master would be returned so he could finish his plans to return his House to it's rightful status.

Since the Master had officially placed the mudblood and her bloodless parent under the protection of the House, it meant that Kreacher could not slay her in her sleep as she deserved for desecrating the halls of his glorious home. He was not even allowed to poison her a little or loosen a stair step. Yet even as the Elf lamented his plight, his highly developed ears were following the conversation that would determine if his sacrifice of honor had any value. After all, the nasty witch might be his only hope of a future for his beloved House.

. . .

Inside the kitchen, Number 12 Grimmauld Place

Albus Dumbledore was impressed. In his many years of association with Severus Snape he'd rarely seen the man so completely caught unawares. The same could be said of his decades old friends Alastor and Minerva. Though his various other friends and allies spread around the kitchen table were much more likely to be caught flat footed, it was noteworthy that not one witch or wizard had any comment after the young witch left in a bit of a huff.

The headmaster knew he hadn't earned any points with the young woman for his curt dismissal; yet it was his learned opinion that it created the perfect timing to call a vote. He knew that two of the members were too proud to vote fairly should the teenager who had embarrassed them still be present.

Some might call him a manipulative old man, and perhaps it was true. However, timing was something of an obsession with the wizard with too many titles and not enough time. He leaned forward and took in the faces before him before clearing his throat at just the right moment.

"Now then, it seems that we have heard quite a lot of evidence, perhaps a bit too much," he laughed and received a few dry chuckles in answer. "Nevertheless it is clear that the youth of Miss Granger is quite well tempered by her drive and dedication."

Albus surveyed his audience, trying to get the main point across in just the right way. "Looking more closely at her laudable feat of gaining an ally in the family's servant - a feat all of us are not just impressed by, but we should also be aware of how tied to the House it reveals her to be. In addition, Miss Granger has also secured the forgiveness and trust of Mr. Potter."

The Headmaster pointedly ignored the clearly disgusted grunt of his potions master and pressed on.

"We have no time to return to the drawing table, and yet that is precisely what we must do if we take the information Miss Granger has provided," Albus paused, looking at Emmeline, "and do not include her in the mission. Therefore, I call a vote on the matter of including Hermione Granger in tomorrow's mission to free Sirius Black, all in favor?"

Four "aye"s rang out with various enthusiasm, with Severus drawling out "Tonks and Lupin vote 'aye' as well."

"Opposed?"

Sturgis Podmore seemed to grimace as he stated, "Nay, for Molly, not myself."

A grumble went up and Elphias Doge, perhaps the oldest Wizard present besides Dumbledore himself, piped up with a cheerful, "then that's an 'Aye' for Hestia then, isn't it?"

The general mood lifted though there was still mild bickering, Sturgis continued to glare at Elphias until the elder man cleared his throat. "What? It only follows as those two nay agree on anything outside of Molly's cooking and how cute the little ones are."

The laughter that followed seemed to be Dumbledore's cue. Smiling benignly, the old wizard began the process of re-assigning positions for tomorrow's critical mission.

Now if he could only decide how to handle the debacle with the Weasleys – theirs was a resource he could scarcely afford to lose, and Molly really did need the distraction of caring for the little ones here at Grimmauld Place. He suspected the twins to be sure, but the signs were obvious that a third spell was woven into Ronald's unfortunate circumstances. Now the only question was, who cast the first hex and how could he keep the distraught Molly from overreacting?

. . .

In the library, Number 12 Grimmauld Place

When Kreacher announced to Harry that 'his witch' would meet him in the library he was already there, so it was confusing to say the least.

Then Hermione stormed into the room and straight up to the table at the back of the room, fists clenched at her sides, hair frizzed and shoulders shaking.

Harry realized she was on the edge as he approached her tentatively. This startled him to a stop and then left him conflicted as to what he could do – what had he thought he was going to do when he charged over to her?

Meanwhile Hermione had seemed to settle down rather quickly. Her fists had unclenched and her hair had settled back into it's normal mass of unruly curls. This was the good news. The bad new was more than a bit distressing as he realized that she was crying quietly, her shoulders shaking just enough to make her curls move.  _What was he supposed to do with a crying girl_?

Turning in place, she seemed first startled then … something else … to find him there. Whatever she felt, she launched into what he was starting to realize were her way of starting a hug – by almost tackling him. But she was still crying. She cried as he held on loosely. She cried as he stroked her back. She was still crying as his calves started to cramp (he had done drills for three hours this morning).

She still didn't stop crying when, desperate, Harry picked her up and sat with her on the big plush couch. He knew she wasn't all that big under all those curls; but the way she just curled into his lap made him feel simultaneously fiercely protective and nearly panicked for reasons he couldn't begin to fathom.

She did calm finally, laying half against the arm of the sofa and the rest of her in a tight ball against his chest. He calmed as well, and eventually their relaxation resulted in sleep. After over a day of planning and tense anticipation, neither of them could stay awake and they both wanted to put off thinking about what failure tonight meant.

. . .

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Fourth Floor – Spell Damage, Accidental Spell Damage ward.

Molly Weasley was livid as she glared at the oblivious old witch at the front desk. They had been in the waiting room for over half an hour now and three patients had arrived and been taken back to treatment since they arrived. Eleven other witches and wizards filled the cramped waiting room, roughly half of them victims, the rest family or friends. All of them seemed to have less interest in their own problems than they had in her poor Ronald's condition.

The oppressive atmosphere in the waiting room demanded something to distract you; too many pitiful moans and other even less pleasant noises emanated from the various victims filling the small room and coming from the narrow corridors beyond. The various strange and awful looking ailments of those gathered still could not compare to her own child's condition. At least he was still quiet, though according to Remus that was due to the initial effects of … of, whatever had happened.

Gazing down at her son, only her many experiences with the twins often destructive though sometimes ridiculous experiments kept her from wincing at his unfortunate appearance.

Colorful would be the kindest description, though the way that almost every other person in the waiting area openly stared, even Molly had to acknowledge that her son's appearance was truly bizarre.

A shock of brown hair adorned what appeared to be a bug-eyed bird head. His body was difficult to see with thick blooms of flowers randomly sprouted between the edges of what looked like armor plating, though she knew it was pliable. Where the bug-skin ended at his mid torso his body fluffed out into the back-end of a bird. A bird with a rather large bouquet in the place of tail feathers.

The unfortunate boy was propped up in a chair, the admonition to use no further spells upon him being repeated until Molly had snapped out a vehement "Alright I get it!" at the poor dear that had processed them in.

The red-headed witch glanced at Nymphandora Tonks who was speaking quietly with Remus Lupin. She wondered why the young woman hadn't used her Auror credentials to get her son faster service. When she had arrived at the refugee house she was working in, Molly had only seen the look upon the young Auror's face and simply demanded, "Who's hurt and where are they?"

To her credit, Tonks hadn't waffled about, simply telling her that Remus had Ron at St. Mungo's. Molly was through the floo by the end of "saint".

Then they had stood in the processing queue for ten minutes while a mean looking case of alchemical solution burns was sorted, they couldn't make up their mind what the reactive ingredients were in their own experiment! Thankfully Molly hadn't had to be the one to speak up as the next wizard in line – a very unfortunate fellow with one furry arm wrapped around his own waist three times – started to grunt and growl.

Broken from her reverie by Remus's soft laughter, Molly glared at the pair, acting like teens at a dance. Maybe had Nymphandora been doing her job instead of making eyes at her hopeful paramour, Molly's youngest son wouldn't have been the victim of such a terrible curse! What was going on in that house anyway? They had all of those Order members gathered right there, for all the good it did her poor Ronnie.

Earlier that morning, when Minerva flooed the news of an emergency Order meeting, the Weasley matron had immediately thought the worse: that her children were in danger again. Now she rued her decision to cook for other peoples children for the fifth time this week, a decision made once she'd learned the subject of tonight's "emergency" meeting.

Her reply to Minerva was, "Really, the subject of a child involved in Order business isn't worthy of a meeting, the answer is no of course." Perhaps she was a touch frosty and yet the Order membership rules were clearly established and after all she still had been very fond of the seven children still staying with the Crosby's.

"Weasley, Ronald?" A young voice called from the front. Molly was up and moving in a trice, sparing a glance to see that Mr. Lupin had her heavily bound son in his strong grasp. She always knew the phases of the moon around Remus and knew it was still a full week before the full. Thus she had no concerns about Lupin's 'condition'. It wasn't that she disliked the Professor, but nevertheless she instructed all of her children to keep careful track of the lunar cycle and to be careful around the lycanthrope during those dangerous days – and nights – once a month.

Ronald's current condition was proof enough that you could never be too careful as a parent.

Molly had given the young healer's apprentice all of the necessaries and Ronald was strapped to a magically inert bed for examination. The poor dear just wouldn't stop thrashing about.

A few minutes later, Molly was gratified to see a stately looking fully qualified Medi-Wizard enter Ronald's area.

"Good evening madam, I am Healer Knowles, I'll be the chief healer on your son's case. Please allow me to review the notes and make an initial diagnosis and then I'll need the details as best you can give them, alright?" Turning immediately to her son, Molly could hardly feel affronted by his abruptness as he was treating her Ronald.

Still, she eyed him carefully as he set to work. The older wizard cut a dashing figure in his immaculate gray robes. He seemed quite competent as he reviewed the chart then cast his own diagnostic charms and even drew magic samples from various areas around the poor dear's body. The apprentice dutifully took notes and the two spent some time in discussion.

A few minutes passed while the healers spoke in hushed tones across the room.

Molly cleared her throat.

The apprentice described the tests that the Medi-Wizard was running and said that it would be 'just a few more moments'.

The Weasley matriarch was not a patient woman in most circumstances. In this case, with her youngest boy looking like a blooming bug-bird, she had none whatsoever. Pretending to dig in her purse, Molly took hold of her wand and cast a spell she'd not had much use for since the children were all away. Nevertheless, her years of practice with the snooping spell yielded immediate results.

The conversation between the young witch and the much older wizard had turned to issues unrelated to their charge and it quickly became obvious that he was flirting with her. She could have been his  _grand daughter_! More importantly, it was her  _son_  that they were ignoring in favor of exhibiting their disgusting behavior right in front of her.

Molly began to get agitated.

Squinting a little, the red headed witch began concentrating a few revealing spells on the unusually fit looking older wizard. With the many years of out-foxing her own twin proteges, Molly was quite adept at observing things that weren't quite right. Nodding once in satisfaction, she observed a few charms in effect upon the old goat. Still holding her wand in her purse, the one-time terror of Hogwarts halls canceled the restraining charm on the older man's shirt, allowing his impressive seeming chest to suddenly reveal itself as a rather unimpressive gut.

Before either of the healers could fully react, Molly snapped her purse shut with a satisfied *click*. Her words carried her glare as she inquired as to when her son would be treated.

. . .

Number 12 Grimmauld Place, entry parlor

The fireplace flared to life as the floo system gave a small *gong* to announce guests with a standing invitation.

Remus Lupin strode out of the flames and wandlessly removed the soot from himself and his charge. The youngest Weasley was going to be asleep for a few more hours due to potions, so he didn't stir as the older man carried him up the stairs into the room he stayed in when the Weasleys visited. There were to be no spells cast upon the boy – not even a simple levitation charm – for the next 12 hours, so Remus had transport duty. He was just glad to have an excuse not to be downstairs.

Remus mused that this would be the first time that he would be happy that Tonks was called in on her night off. With a little luck the two of them could hopefully avoid the infamous wrath of Molly Weasley. He'd have to see if he could get the story out of Minerva tomorrow as the wizard was sure that Albus would have his silver tongue put to the test tonight.

He'd heard Molly arrive moments after him and had barely gotten the boy put down on his bed before the shouting started. Motioning the door closed, Remus silenced it and sat down to read a book.

. . .

The twins had never actually heard of a person having been  _hit_  by a patronus before. When their mother's full sized mare burst through their door they definitely knew they'd been busted. Giving up their game of gobstones as lost, they picked themselves up and began debating on the uses of the patronus spell in gags as they went down the stairs to try to avoid their fate.

. . .

Minerva was smiling as she watched the sleeping couple. The scene of them cuddling on the couch was too precious to break up immediately, yet she knew if she dawdled, Molly would be coming along herself. How they had slept through the woman's tirade was baffling, but the stately witch didn't want this moment ruined since they'd managed the feat. She smiled wistfully at a stray thought, hoping one day to present the cute new couple with this memory.

The Deputy Headmistress knew that she had a soft spot for both of the teens, having learned about at least part of the troubles each had endured. It warmed her heart to think they could find some peace with one another.

The rumble of two sets of feet on the stairs brought her out of her reverie. ' _My my I'm getting sentimental_ _'_  she laughed to herself before sending a quick message to Dumbledore.

Stopping as she leaned down, Minerva realized the teens would be pretty embarrassed if she were to wake them. Shifting herself to her silent and furry form, she trotted back to the doorway before returning to normal; then closed the heavy dark door most of the way. A small wisp of magic puffed from her wand to both teens as she closed the door.

. . .

     Safe : Trusted

_time to wake up : time to wake up_

Warm and Cared For : Soft and Relied Upon

_Hermione, wake up : Harry, wake up      .  
_

Hermione awoke with a somewhat painful crick in her neck, and found it odd that her chin was resting on her knees. Still, she felt very nice, so safe and warm, so she tried to stretch her neck just a bit to work out the sore muscle. The top of her head encountered something hard and she heard a small "oof".

Her first real thought was 'that's odd', quickly followed by 'where exactly am I?' and finished with the flashes of memory ending in being carried to the couch.

She peeked one eye open to see the deep burgundy of the plush couch. Glancing down there was definitely an arm – which she could now feel was wrapped around her side to join it's partner which enveloped her back and … held her thigh?

Harry awoke with his face full of curls which tickled his nose when he breathed out but smelled of flowers when he breathed in. There was the minor issue of tingling pains in his legs and right arm, yet he didn't want to change a thing. Despite the protests from his limbs, he couldn't remember having rested so well. A sudden clunk into his jaw made his mind come fully awake. Within a second he was fully aware that the soft warm bundle in his lap was a person.

A girl person.

He was holding Hermione in his lap and he was pretty sure his hand …

The pair scrambled to get apart. Instead of accomplishing this task, they both managed to end up on the thick, dark gray carpet in front of the couch in even more of a tangle.

Stammered apologies and nervous disclaimers blended into a yammer that neither understood as she finally stood and he levered himself up to the couch, massaging protesting legs with protesting arms.

Since he was sitting, she left. She didn't exactly run, but she moved quickly enough that the breeze felt good on her almost-painfully-hot-blush.

They both felt the loss of comfort in ways that only amplified their confusion. They didn't look at one another once both were present in the kitchen.

Hermione was terribly confused, not just by the jumble of her emotions or the odd look on Minerva's face – as if she was confused and disappointed – but just as much by the nod that the smiling Headmaster gave her.

Harry didn't have any time to think about his confusion once his wand was checked.

Molly Weasley demanded the wands from the twins and Harry. Severus then performed some charm on them, stating aloud some spell names – Hermione recognized the Latin and the first few from Harry's wand – and each of the wands were found to have cast one of the named spells on the list the Healer had given Molly.

The twins, for their part, only seemed impressed that a spell could recall wand use farther back than their relied upon  _Prior Incantato_ for escaping detection.

. . .

Molly simply stared coldly at Harry after she verified that he had recently cast the  _Entomorphis_  charm; one of the spells eventually identified by the randy old goat of a 'healer', once she had motivated him properly.

Harry had then been told "Sit down!" rather emphatically, but then he was ignored for the time being.

The disappointed mother had opened up proceedings on her own children, they were hers and she felt responsible, at least marginally, for their behavior. She had both boys washing the dishes by hand – all of them, never-mind that they were already clean – while she launched into her tirade.

"When will you learn that magic is not a plaything? How can you be so reckless after all of the times I've told you not to do experiments on people, and with your own brother? Again!"

And so it began. Molly paced as she chastised her gifted yet mischievous twins. Her tone wavered in pitch yet the volume never dropped below yelling.

Everyone else besides Harry and had cleared the room inside the first minute.

As the angry mother paced, her threats and admonishments boomed off of the kitchen walls. The only non-redhead in the room wondered if she had used a charm to amplify her voice as he reflexively ducked when she swung around in her pacing, her volume alone rattling him in his seat.

He struggled against memories that he'd thought long forgotten, but were apparently just buried. The angry words of a distraught and frustrated mother melded with phantom shrieks of indignance and bellows of rage. Of course the twins weren't having their attitudes physically adjusted as he had when his magic had acted up. The worse thing was, he didn't even know back then what it was that was happening,  _only that he was a worthless freak and_..

Harry was shocked out of his inner turmoil as Molly's voice reached new decibel levels, he could feel the magic radiating off of her as she shouted.

"How do you expect your brother to ever trust you again? Can't you put aside your curiosity to consider the welfare of your own flesh and blood? You could have killed him, joining spells like that! Do you want your father and I to have to go through that again?" The last line was spit out with such fervor that Harry jerked up to look and found himself staring the raving redhead right in the eyes.

The problem was that Harry wasn't cowering any longer. He'd shaken himself out of his own remembered misery and realized that Molly didn't really scare him. In fact, he was becoming scared for her. Dumbledore had been very detailed in his instruction of his responsibilities to and the capabilities of House magic.  
Like it or not, Harry was in some capacity, Lord of this house and he was aware that his blood-bound family magic was starting to see Molly as a threat against him.

What's more, he'd been listening to Molly rant at the twins for over ten minutes and he couldn't take much more of it. The young man may not have understood the love of a mother but he didn't think she was making any headway by exaggerating the facts.

Harry could understand the woman being upset with all that had happened to her family, but he hardly believed that Ron was in mortal peril. His classmate wouldn't be out of the hospital already if he had been anywhere near death's door, he knew for certain just how long they liked to keep you in a bed even for the slightest maladies.

Besides, it genuinely was an accident, and the way she'd been going on and on at Fred and George, as if they meant to purposely harm their own brother, just didn't sit well with Harry's sense of justice.

In the mean time, Molly seemed to have taken offense at Harry's apparent lack of remorse and had stopped her rant at her kids. She had moved to loom over the other 'attacker' as she had earlier referred to them collectively.

"What do you have to say for yourself, child? Did you think it funny that my son could have been killed on those stairs?" She waved her arm in roughly the direction of the scene of the 'crime'. "Would that have been entertaining? Were you going to hurt my baby on purpose?"

Harry's eyes widened at the implications of the woman's words. How could she say such a thing? It was an accident. Yes, his spell was designed to turn the target into a harmless bug – and Harry had lain awake some nights with the fantasy of a Dudley-bug-in-a-jar. Yet the charm was too powerful for Harry to maintain for more than a minute or two at the most. He had cast it without thought, a strange alchemy of knowing that he could cast the hex in the house, combined with a deep-seated memory of his cousin pounding down the stairs over his head. The two mixed with his many hours of drills - and his reflexive casting was the result. How could he possibly anticipate that someone else would also target his ill-mannered classmate?

Yet, with many years of unfair accusations and punishment as his teachers, he had learned his lesson well: if the angry adult said you were wrong, you were wrong, it was only a matter of what punishment they decided upon.

The problem was that he didn't feel like that terrified little boy anymore. In fact he had so many feelings welling up within him that he couldn't begin to count them, let alone name what he felt most. He was genuinely concerned about Ron, but felt bad for the twins, too. He was somewhat guilty but yet indignant as he didn't try to cause harm – it was an accident. He felt terrified at the idea that the ancient House magic could influence him and yet he was simultaneously concerned that the same magic might 'protect' him if the Weasley mother standing over him with her arms crossed – but wand out – crossed the line.

Then there were the swirling mass of confusing emotions over Sirius, and whatever was going on with Hermione, and the mess at school – he felt the House magic shift around him slightly. The Headmaster's warning had been very clear, he would be held accountable as an adult should anything happen due to House magic. Harry lowered his head and grit his teeth, he had to get hold of himself!

. . .

While the verbal assault raged behind the nearby door, Hermione was talking quietly with Dumbledore in the hall outside the kitchen. She felt terrible for Harry, she had last seen him sitting at the table, awaiting his turn like a man condemned.

When the yelling had started everyone left the room, Hermione was among the first out, led by the Headmaster. As the Order members passed her, most made meaningless comments, two even congratulated her, which caught her off guard.

Hermione did wonder what Minerva meant as she left with the comment, "I'm sorry things turned out this way." The older witch seemed strangely melancholy. This was very confusing because the discussion that she and her soon-to-be Headmaster were having was one of the most wonderfully satisfying she could remember.

In just a few sentences the old mage had informed her that she would not only be part of the mission, thus validating all of her hard work; in addition Hermione would be joining classes at Hogwarts in the spring term. His condition being that she had to do all the testing to clear first year between Christmas and the end of the holiday seemed to be as humorous to him as it was to her.

Hermione would start as a second year mid-term, a year below her age-mates. (Including Harry, she quickly and nervously dismissed.) The Headmaster was just talking about supplies when they both noticed the quiet, then the renewed rant, now apparently directed at Harry.

. . .

Molly looked down upon the child sitting at the ancient kitchen table. She didn't know much about the boy's history, Albus had mentioned some abuse in his past, but that was no excuse to pick on others. He lived a life of luxury with his god-father and her Ronnie had mentioned many times over the past years how bigoted and rude the boy behaved – and was there any wonder, with a role model like Sirius Black?

As to his current attitude, he had heard every word she had said to her sons yet he didn't appear all that bothered. Yes, his face had showed some remorse for a moment, but she had told the twins that Ronald could have  _died_ (which was only true in the most extremely technical of interpretations, but still!)

Yet Harry Potter seemed to be showing he was just as her Ronnie had described him these last two years: self-centered and careless about the welfare of others. Though his eyes were narrowed in thought, his expression actually looked more frustrated than anything.

He not only did not answer, he didn't even appear to be listening to her!

"Did you not hear me ask you a question Harry Potter?"

If anything, the boy seemed to have become defiant! His brow was knit over dark green eyes and his visage seemed to be one of gathering anger. Anger! As if he had any right to feel anything but shame.

"Answer me you spoiled little brat!"

Narrowing her eyes balefully, the red head's temper began to rule her common sense – a trait she'd shown to great effect with howlers many times in the last few years. Her over-wrought mind saw a boy who could have hurt her son and didn't appear to care. Seething with righteous indignation, she decided:  _Something had to get through to this boy. Perhaps if he were_ _to see what it felt like to be turned into a bird_ _like her poor boy he'd have more humility_!

. . .

The young witch peeked under the arm of the tall old wizard as he opened the kitchen door. They had stopped talking when Molly's rant became shrieked questions apparently directed at Harry. The Headmaster opened the ancient wooden kitchen door and both of them peered into the somewhat gloomy kitchen.

Hermione could see the twins at the sink. She noted that Molly's long winded brow-beating had left the twins practically cowering as they carefully scrubbed the spotless pots and pans; though both were glancing over their shoulders at where Harry must be getting chewed out by the angry mother.

Unable to see past the voluminous purple robes, Hermione knew when the Weasley matriarch emotionally switched the gears of her ire on Harry. She  _felt_  him recoil at her accusations of intentionally trying to hurt 'her baby'.

Albus had just breathed in, ready to begin placating the raging red head when he realized that he had miscalculated. Molly had been through a great deal of strain in recent times and was doing something the aged wizard would never have believed: she was casting a hex at a child.

His wand had just reached his hand when a jet of red light streaked from under his arm. Molly Weasley collapsed in a heap and the twins turned to look in confusion.

"Fred, George, see if you can hold your temper long enough for me to get your mother off of Harry?"

Sighing deeply, the aged wizard knew that all his years as Chief Mugwump had given him less headaches than dealing with Weasley family politics. It was going to be a long night.

.o0o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my wife and sister for stepping in again as my co-Betas :)
> 
> Recommended reading: Dearly Beloved by DigiFruit - Short and beautifully told, all of the happy fluffiness, with a really good story first!  
> 
> 
> . . .
> 
> Blessings,  
>  Majerus


	16. Ritual and Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A quick apology for the brutalizing of Minerva's accent. I've no clue what I'm doing, I'm just trying to show emotion.  
> Still no 'real' Beta, though I've had two approach and then... I dunno, maybe I'm expecting too much? In any case I'd appreciate anyone who has some time to talk stories with me, I've got lots of writing done, just having a bit o trouble making that writing = chapters.  
> All that dribble aside, all the errors are mine, so be kind :/

11:30 pm, December 20th, 1993

Kitchen, Number 12 Grimmauld Place

The twins hadn't even reached their mother before she gave a small moan. As they sat her at the large head chair they looked back to take in the scene.

The Headmaster had Harry sitting up, the boy held one hand to his head, apparently having hit his head as Molly fell on him. Hermione still stood in the doorway, her face frozen in horror, she had dropped her wand in front of her and almost shook in her boots.

With a nod, their amazing minds began to weave a magic only twins and the closest of friends can achieve:

As Molly's eyes came into focus on her sons, they spoke in their unmistakable style:

"We're so very sorry mother, we didn't see Harry casting..." Fred began his face tear-streaked,

"But that's no excuse, none at all, we see that now..." George took up, his voice choked with emotion "and we never meant any harm but we've learned that our intentions are not the issue..." "Right you are, we see how stressed you are over this, to make you collapse is beyond forgiveness..." "You've every right to take us out of school and snap our wands..." "Though we'd never try to hurt Ronniekins on purpose..." "Our actions did cause you even more stress and we're terribly sad that we've done this and promise to never experiment upon Ron" " _with spells..._ " "again.." " _at the same time..._ " "And we know that Harry feels the same way..." "Don't you Harrykins?"

Harry had to shake his head to clear it, but quickly nodded agreement, adding "I am so very sorry Mrs. Weasley, Ron startled me on the stairs and I completely over-reacted. I didn't even know it was him, but that's no excuse and I wouldn't be surprised if you never allowed me to eat your wonderful cooking again for how thoughtless I was in my panic."  
Harry's solemn look was well practiced from years of convincing Professor McGonagall of his innocence in pranks played in the great hall, or the hallways, or even her classroom.

The overwrought matron never stood a chance, her boys were crying, offering up their own wands for heaven's sake! The Potter boy's eyes held obvious pain, his sincere words putting all her anger at bay. And then there was her own self-recrimination. She had almost hexed the boy! In his own home, what was she thinking? Guilt combined with the boy's pleas led her to gather them all into a massive hug, not even noticing her knocking over two chairs in the process of pulling Harry to them in the end.

. . .

Hermione's body shook with a tremor one last time as disbelief overcame all the other emotions frantically trying to claim attention in her mind.

Molly begins a weepy lecture on how she just wants the boys – all of them – to live up to their potentials and have fruitful lives. At this time Professor Dumbledore leads the numb young witch out of the kitchen doorway and closes the heavy wooden door, reducing the blubbering apologies and tut-tuts to a dull murmur.

The Headmaster leads Hermione back into the hall, and after shaking his head at the masterful work of the twins, he looks down upon Hermione. She expects to see reproach, but his eyes are twinkling madly.

"I think you know that you could have handled that better?"

Hermione's swirling emotions fix upon mortified as she squeaks out, "Yes professor".

"And I think that you know that you should not cast stunners at adults?"

The very picture of contrition, the young witch barely breathes, "Yes professor".

"Very well, I believe you've learned your lesson, lets not speak on this matter any further."

Even with her mind whirling at it's normally dizzying pace, it takes her a few moments to catch on. First hesitantly, then with dawning understanding at the bemused look upon the old wizards face, Hermione finally relaxes.  
"Yes professor", she beams.

.o0o.

Cold

So… Cold.

It wasn't a natural cold, not like the feel of the wind off of the lake in Winter or even the bone deep chill of that bitter Spring Quidditch game that went till two A.M. (How did James fly in that, anyways?)

No, this cold was so much worse because he couldn't so much feel it as it was simply a part of him.

Like the Darkness.

But the Darkness didn't bother him. That much.

He used to joke with the Marauders that growing up a Black he should hardly be afraid of the dark. Then again, like the penetrating Cold, this wasn't normal Darkness either.

It wasn't that there was no light to see by - he knew that feeling all too well from childhood punishments - it was more as though he didn't have anything to see with.

As if his eyes were gone.

In fact most of his senses seemed to be absent.

But he could still feel the Cold.

And he could still 'hear' the voices; at least in his mind. Not nearly as often lately, mind you. The weak one had never done much more than whimper ever since the Battle.

With no way to measure time, he had not bothered to guess how long they had been trapped (in the Dark, so very Cold) yet there were Events by which he marked the passage of time. Once again he was reminded of punishments in the magically darkened closet - though he didn't miss the feeling of hunger that gnawed and growled at him in that darkness. He idly wondered if he had a body anymore if he could no longer feel hunger?

His discipline kicked in, as it always did when he approached negative thoughts, and his mind returned to pondering the Events. They were a way to mark time, and to impose order upon the otherwise featureless nothing of his… prison? No, it was his salvation, he knew. If he could ever get out. Yet again his discipline squashed the wayward negativity.

Without his discipline he knew he'd be lost. Years of training in Occlumency - first because it was the Family magic, later maintained because it was useful for keeping track of school lessons without actually working at it - those years of practice had paid off.

In fact the old Black Family Secret had probably saved his life. He couldn't wait to laugh in his mother's face. Well, her portrait anyways. It had definitely saved his sanity.

Well… he was having fantasies of laughing in the face of a portrait, so perhaps he shouldn't quite count his chickens, as Lily used to say.

In any case, if the whimpers of the Coward were any indication, he could thank his discipline for having survived the Battle, which he was sure had saved his mind. For now.

The Events were few (Nothing happened here in the cold, Cold Darkness) yet they were all he had to think on while he waited. He could not stop wondering if a clue lay somewhere in those Events. A clue as to where he was, and who was here with him. Most importantly as to how to get out.

The first Event was the easiest to recall of course because it had happened just before the Dark overtook everything.

At first he had been only dimly aware of his surroundings, and only his diligent review of his memories had filtered any useful recollections from the haze of those first few moments outside once he 'came to'. He had been stunned often enough over the years to recall the effects of hazy thoughts and achy-stiff muscles.

His pride still stung from the realization that he had been caught by Lucius gods-thrice-cursed Malfoy of all people.

If the fact that he was in Malfoy's grand ballroom wasn't enough of a clue then it was confirmed by hearing that sickeningly smooth voice - behind him no less. He'd heard that voice hiding behind a bone-white mask many times as an Auror and Order member as the instigator first taunted and then fled. The death eater they could never quite get. Only Snape was more slippery than that slick bastard.

Rousing his mind from that fruitless line of thought, he picked through the next few moments.

There was a woman yelling, screaming really, the distinct presence of Voldemort; yet not? That was a puzzle he had yet to solve, even as he felt that presence here in the Darkness with him (he hoped that the bastard froze in the Cold).

Then the terrifying instant where his senses sharpened just in time to realize that the shrieking woman was his dear cousin (Ex-Cousin, he gleefully interrupted himself) Bellatrix LeStrange, the target of the Magic Trap. A fancy bit of spell work that he was proud to have contributed to; though Filius had done the most work by far, his contribution of a Family spell was still crucial.

The trap certainly appeared to have worked. The psychotic bitch was exhibiting all of the signs they had anticipated when all of Bella's (considerable) magic was preparing to be suddenly released from it's internalizing spiral.

The theory was, once triggered by proximity to the dark lord, the layers of enchantments holding the target's magic inside would cause a cascade effect as they collapsed, essentially creating a magical bomb.

Besides the Charms Professor and himself, only Albus had been told, and even then the old man had to be convinced over a period of weeks. Then it took careful planning to lure the murderous witch to her doom. Now it looked as though he would be present to see it's effects. Unfortunately for him - and everyone else for a goodly distance if their Arithmancy was correct. A bleary-eyed glance around him brought the realization that the ballroom was near full of dark robed figures.

At least they'd take out a good number of the murderous rabble.

But then something else occurred in that moment of returned clarity. His rigid family upbringing had saved him twice over that day (he really was looking forward to rubbing it in dear mother's face, painted or not).

As a child he had initially been the Heir (this before he'd exhibited signs that he wanted no part of the torture of house elves, 'sporting' murder of Muggles, and other Family Traditions). One of the duties had been lessons. Etiquette, Blood Lines, Laws (and their loop holes), Occlumency… and Privileges of the Head of House.

He recalled the fact that he was in the Malfoy Family Seat.

Standing next to the Head of House.

Who was about to be put in Mortal Peril.

His recovering reflexes, combined with Lucius' perfectly reasonable distractedness, allowed Sirius to turn and grasp the forearm of his captor and speak those most important words:

"I surrender to your mercy."

Then the world went Dark.

The Cold set in.

And the Battle began.

However long it had taken, however long had since then passed, Sirius Black knew one thing for certain: There had been three 'people', three minds, when the Battle began. But now he was certain one was broken.

Though he would not admit it, he knew one more thing: Whoever, whatever he was trapped in this Cold Darkness with, it was gathering it's strength. It was only a matter of time, and Sirius was not so sure he could hold out much longer.

.o0o.

4:00 pm, December 21st, 1993

Library, Number 12 Grimmauld Place

The preparations were almost complete and Hermione had yet to see Harry since being pulled away from the confusing confrontation in the kitchen the night previous. In fact she hadn't spoken to him since the even more confusing moments on the couch. She had tried to analyze the feelings that seemed to swirl about her half a dozen times since then and the results were a chaotic jumble.

She felt the keen stab of embarrassment just as strongly as the amazing comfort that seemed to cocoon her in warmth. She worried and she smiled, she wondered and she fretted. Why hadn't he come to her. Should she go to him? What if he wasn't interested in her? What if he got the wrong idea with where his hand was? Why Was his hand There?

"Hermione", Minerva observed the youngster tracking a path back and forth in front of the library windows. My goodness had she ever been that much of a wreck over a boy? The professor pointedly did not follow that line of thought, instead clearing her throat... and when that didn't work, speaking loudly, "Hermione!"

The witch in question stopped and looked up, her face pained in obvious uncertainty.

"Com'here then, it'llall be jus'fine grrl." Minerva's strong Northern burr crept into her tone as she held her arms wide for her charge, who promptly abandoned all pretense and rushed to hug the older witch.

Professor McGonagall released a small 'oof' in surprise as the girl who seemed so small and slight veritably slammed into her with a clinging grasp. A chuckle escaped the older witches throat as she soothingly rubbed her soon-to-be students' back and she made reassuring shushing noises.

"I cannae pretend to know'all yer troobles lass, but I ken tell yeh we're doin e'hrthin we ken ta bring'back Sirius wit'nae harm to no'ne."

Deciding she had to know, Hermione asked the only question she felt wouldn't give too much away, "Is Harry going to be in serious risk?"

Schooling herself, Minerva pulled her self control together and leaned her charge back to look into her fearful brown eyes. "I'll not lie, Harry has the most dangerous part in this. That be said he'll be constantly monitored and no serious harm will come to him." Considering the young witch in front of her, she smiled as she offered, "He's asked after you as well, worried more for you than he is himself. But he trusts you. Told me to tell you that himself." With that the older witch began to steer the younger towards the door. "We'll be off to get you an early supper and then dressed. After that, the plan is in place, in just over four hours we should have our irascible Lord Black back in his home."

.o0o.

7:00 pm, December 21st, 1993

Entry Hall, Malfoy Manor

Hermione was doing her level best to quell her nerves.

Tonks, disguised as only she could as Emmeline Vance, introduced her as a French witch come to tour Hogwarts. The subtle hints would be dropped later that the poor girl had lost her family in an accident and Ms. Vance was her guardian.

They circulated for over half an hour and introduced Hermione as 'Jean' from outside Nantes. Her English was purported to be 'gaining ground', but she obviously spoke French more easily. Thus conversation was somewhat muted towards her, as they had hoped. Around a quarter before eight, Tonks/Vance slipped away to get preparations underway in the basement.

Meanwhile, 'Jean' circulated and made excuses for her 'tuteur' in broken English that always brought the desired result: people stopped asking. Nevertheless, Hermione began feeling rather uncomfortable.

There were so very many people, all of them so richly dressed, but that didn't bother her, her own gown was the finest thing she had ever worn and she passingly wondered if she'd ever get to wear it again. Perhaps when she wasn't putting her newly learned cooling charms to the test.

People gave her half-hearted consolation when they learned of her 'situation', which hit too close to home not to affect her; but that didn't really bother her.

Terribly accented French was used to both console and also to exhort the virtues of Hogwarts, which while cringe inducing, didn't exactly bother her either.

The thing Hermione could not get used to was the staring.

Everywhere she went, she would turn to find people staring. Old people, young people, every type of wizard and witch seemed to find her curious, and it was unnerving. She knew they didn't know why she was really here, but it still made her skill crawl.

She was rescued from a matron who mistook volume for clarity when speaking bad French by an older fellow who reminded Hermione of a fatter Mr. Weasley. The dapper dressed man spoke fluent French, and he didn't try to sell her on the school nor did he seem to want to console her.

They spoke at length about France's foreign policies, something which Hermione was very knowledgeable about, and about English influences upon the region about Nantes (part of the area of Brittany). They toasted the ball – the dancing was to start in an hour – and Hermione never saw the man touch his wand to the fruity wine she'd been nursing all evening.

Just as she was about to take a sip, her drink was snatched from her hand. She turned sharply to find a coldly glaring pair of grey eyes. It took her a moment to realize that the glare was not directed at herself, and she considered the face the eyes belonged to. There was an almost aristocratic air to his smooth white skin, almost white-blonde hair coiffed perfectly. His suit was a beautiful charcoal grey and his bearing seemed regal to the confused witch.

Her quick mind took in these details even as her eyes narrowed to find that the boy – for that is what he was after all, bearing or not he was no older than she – had given her wine to a passing servant with the words "put that aside for me". His tone was almost bored, but once again Hermione was taken aback by the sheer vitriol in the young man's gaze. It stopped her protest on her lips.

Not that he seemed to have noticed her at all.

When he spoke, the smoothness of his voice was just loud enough to be heard among the three of them, but the menace of his tone was equal to his gaze. And he spoke in flawless French. "Cavendar, she's thirteen, fourteen at the most. Yet knowing this you tried anyways, and in my Father's house? Your contract is broken, your goods will be dumped in Bristol harbour at midnight if you have not claimed them. Get out."

With that the youth steered Hermione a few steps away even as an Elf 'popped' in next to the fellow called Cavendar and then, with the still dazed, shocked look upon his face as he disappeared with another 'pop'.

The young man seemed to switch gears with ease and his scowl was instantly replaced by a gentle, concerned frown as he took a stunned Hermione's hand in his own. Still speaking in low tones, his French was impeccable. "I offer my humble appologies mi Lady, Cavendar has pulled some low tricks in the past but that was deplorable."

Finally finding her voice, Hermione found that she had no idea what to say. What had happened? Why was this boy rescuing her from whatever that man had done, or planned? As clever as she was, the young woman could not find her footing among this rush of events.

Seeing her confusion, the young man stepped back, sketching a short bow as he spoke. "Pardon mi Lady, allow me to introduce myself. I am Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy, your Host. That man had hexed your drink to cause you to follow his suggestions. I have had the wine isolated should your guardian choose to press charges once she is informed." With this Draco looked about, then back when he did not catch sight of Emmeline.

Hermione felt herself flush. She'd heard of such things occuring at parties – she (had) lived on a college campus after all. But to think it would occur at a luxurious ball such as this, and to her, it made her head spin.

Draco took his time, making small talk and putting Hermione at ease, though she could tell he was slightly ill at ease once she regained her wits. Their conversation was stimulating, he was quite intelligent although she wondered if it was his pureblood manners that had kept him from talking about more current topics or if his upbringing didn't consider the wider world of import.

She checked her watch, finding the time to be just past eight. The young witch knew she needed to make her way towards the bottom floor and asked Draco to escort her to freshen up.

He left her at the bottom hall, citing duties to 'his guests', but promised to return to find her.

She turned away and barely withheld a frown. If he kept returning to look for her, she couldn't go down early to check on Tonks. Then again, no alarm had been raised and Hermione could go down and do her part then return once the Arithmancy was completed.

Once out of sight, Hermione disillusioned herself and, with a quick check on a hall mirror, she slunk down the stairs in search of her partner.

Tonks just about scared Hermione out of her skin when she stepped out of hiding behind the younger witch. The Auror had already warded a section of the basement and the two set about the calculations as they had practiced. It took them a few tries but eventually Tonks found a series of doors that led deep into the Manor's underbelly. Much of it was unfinished, the signs of construction down here were many even as the referbished ballroom above them gleamed in perfection.

Finally their calculations came to the desired sum and a quick cross-check revealed that they could draw the diagrams and be only mere feet from true center (a wall kept them from true alignment). Tonks set the adjustment in her coded belt – it's match deep below Black Manor would update automagically.

Once Hermione's part was done she dashed back up the stairs to find Draco at the end of the hall.

She steadied her breath, having dropped the invisibility spell on the landing below. His back was to her, but the witch decided that it was better not to try to 'come out of' the bathroom, and instead called him as she came up the stairs. It was a good choice.

"Draco?" She laughed quietly, "sorry, my curiosity got the best of me."

Turning to see the young French woman, Draco smiled his most charming smile. "Here," he proferred his wand, delicately blowing off some wood shavings and dust that had gathered on the fine deep blue gown.

"Thank you, how terribly careless of me!" Hermione genuinely chided herself.

"Not much to see down there just yet, the whole basement is being refurbished..." he trailed off, then looked at her, almost expectantly before schooling his features in a gentle smile. "I just came to ask if you'd do me the honor of dancing the second dance? I'm afraid I've been promised by my mum to a family friend for the first." he finished with a overly-dramatic sigh and a wink.

Hermione found herself quite charmed. A dashing young man saves her from certain foul play, then treats her with kindness and is even intelligent enough to hold a conversation. Now he wants to dance with her, at his ball? Still, she hadn't spent near a decade as 'Sensible Jean' to toss it out the window on such an important mission. She knew from lessons that the dances took at the minimum around six minutes, the first dance was usually ten to twelve, wherein the other couples joined during the first refrain. Having a music major as a buddy in college was actually paying off! With her data tabulated Jean, that is Hermione smiled what she hoped was demurely, then gave herself a condtional out just in case.

"I'll go make sure with Emmy, but I accept on condition of her approval." This flirting business was completely new, but fun. "If not the second then the third, as she wants me to meet some people and I've been dodging her thus far. She smiled again, this time hoping for conspiratorial.

"Until then." Draco took her hand and brushed her knuckles across his lips, smiled winningly and then turned to move back into the crowd.

Standing part way up the stairs disillusioned, Tonks shook her head sadly. It appeared as though Harry's crush was going to break his heart. She didn't have time to waste on teen romance however, her cousin was relying upon her; the whole Family was for that matter. Slipping back down the stairs, the Auror sent a quick 'chirp' to Hermione to prompt her that it was almost time.

Ten minutes later, as the muted tones of the orchestra warming up reached their location, the two women were unable to hear it. Hermione, as catalyst, lay prone, spread eagle across a large array of runic symbols and Arithmantic solutions. A stone the size of a goose egg rested at her navel, it's color the deepest jet black almost seemed to pull the dim light of the surrounding candles into it.

Grasped in her left hand was a crest, the Black family crest to be precise, and in her right she held a wand; a wand that was passed down through the family for children to practice with. It had last been used by Sirius.

In a room several hundred miles south she knew Harry would be in the exact same position. She uttered a quick prayer for them both – and one for Sirius – then lent her whispered voice to the chant Tonks had begun. Thus the ritual asking for the release of Sirius, and for the renewal of House Black, began on the first moments of the Solstice.

.o0o.

For the first time in ... too long, Sirius could hear a voice other than the whining of Lucius or the sibilant mutters of his other co-guest in their Cold Dark ... place.

At once the one who called himself Voldemort attacked, and it was all that the last of the Blacks could do to keep his mind from being overwhelmed.

The voices, for now he could distinguish that there were two, seemed to be calling to him, and yet he could not both concentrate on them and defend himself.

. . .

The music came to a dramatic crescendo as the first song of the Ball began above the witches heads. Those heads were bathed in a light sheen of sweat as the ritual, now fully underway, linked their magic through ancient rituals, tokens and their own love and desire to restore Sirius Black to his place in this world. The magic further linked through the symbols and Arithmantic solutions two terrestrial points, the other of which was a mirror image to this.

At that other point, writhing in unexpected pain, Harry Potter was watched over by a helpless feeling Albus Dumbledore. Nothing in the ritual spoke of this reaction. Unless. Unless the one they were trying to retrieve did not want to return.

There was another option, which Albus considered as he checked the status of Remus Lupin, Sirius's last 'brother' in all but blood. Remus was taking as great a risk as Harry, though none but he and the Headmaster knew this. And Snape, of course. The potion master was loathe to administer such a powerful magical link, especially not knowing how Lupin's lycanthropy would interact, regardless of it being a full week until the full moon.

Still, Remus's posture was rigid as he mimicked Tonks's position at Harry's head, palms up, arms slightly shaking with an unknown strain. Sweat dripped from his brow as a moan ripped from his mouth even as Harry bucked and cried out in the circle drawn on the basement floor.

. . .

Sirius slammed his mental shield into place, shifting his entire being into one focus, one purpose: take the fight to the attacker. For more than a thousand years the Black family had mastered and passed down the art of mind magics. Occlumency and Legilemency were part of them, to be sure, but they were not all that existed in the Black's arsenal.

In the minds eye of each combatant a shimmering field appeared. Upon this field, coalescing as though from mist into solid forms, two figures appeared. One seemed to be standing unsteadily, the other strode confidently into view.

On the far side of Sirius' mind he saw a youth, uncertainly looking about, he held great personal power yet he seemed lost. When he beheld the fully armed and armored mage-knight which Sirius portrayed, he shrunk back, confusion turning to open fear.

Sirius pressed his advantage.

. . .

Albus had begun to lose hope. The ritual had now gone on for ten minutes. It was well past what was expected. Although the pair in the ritual seemed to have settled at least.

The old wizard almost jumped in fright when Harry suddenly spasmed in some kind of quick seizure. Wait.. it wasn't a seizure, Harry had laughed.  _He laughed_! And Remus, his whole frame shuddered but then also gave a definitely mirthful snort.

Miles to the North, Tonks fell backwards onto her back, a giggle bubbling up from deep in her tummy. Hermione sputtered her own amusement, and when her eyes opened she had tears streaming from them. Rolling over she helped Tonks regain her feet and began to incant the last part of the ritual, using Sirius' practice wand in one hand, she pointed to the jet black stone which she had left in the center of the ritual.

The rock, seeming to become a piece of the Void itself, began to  _open_. Stretching over the entirety of the eight foot circle, it became a pit of infinite darkness from which a cold poured that quickly frosted the stone around the ritual, though the candles did not go out.

From the depths of that pit a terrifying howl was heard. The witches glanced uneasily towards the doorway leading back towards the stairs. They had warded the area securely, and sound should have no chance of escaping, yet the terrible noise was such that it made them both nervous. Finally, barely noticeable under that howl could be heard the raucus laughter that was unmistakeably (to Tonks anyways) Sirius Black.

And then it was done. Only Tonks and Hermione were shocked to find that they had rescued one more than they had counted on.

Next to the slowly recovering Sirius Black was, as expected, Lucius Malfoy, though he was deathly still. The third and unexpected person, moving slowly, but moving all the same was none other than Lord Voldemort.

.o0o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my wife for stepping in again as my Beta, the story would not be posted without her help and advice.
> 
> Recommended reading: What We're Fighting For by James Spookie - This is an accomplished author's first foray into Harmony and I have to say it's amazing.
> 
> . . .
> 
> Blessings,  
>  Majerus


	17. Two Steps Forward, One Step Back  or  A Black Family Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Warning: a bit of gore in this chapter. Apologies as it's the Christmas chapter, but it showed up here :/ Still, it isn't anything worse than in previous chapters.  
> Also, quick Q & A:  
> Q: Will there be a spot of Teen Angst?  
> A: There are teens involved in various forms of relationships, so sadly, yes. All is not lost gentle reader, for I cannot stomach it for long, so neither will you have to ;-)
> 
> A quick warning that this chapter was gathered together in less than 24 hours so please be kind.
> 
> Lastly a hopefully less desperate appeal for anyone with time, intelligence and imagination to spare who would like to work with me on Jean. Now on to:

8:38 pm, December 21st, 1993

Basement, Number 12 Grimmauld Place

With Albus standing gobsmacked over the pair of prone younger wizards, he was further unprepared as Remus threw his head back and laughed aloud, "He's back!"

The Headmaster was completely shocked when, instead of joining in Remus's mirth, Harry's voice choked out "he's Back!" Harry's terrified voice set both elder wizard's teeth on edge. Still crouched on all fours, the teen dazedly looked around the room with vacant eyes, then sobbed in agony even as he fell face first upon the stone floor.

. . .

Miles to the North in the Malfoy basement, the shock of the arrival of three figures lasted mere seconds for Auror Tonks.

Two of the three bodies stirred ever so slightly. The Auror's eyes blazed as she focused on the robe-clad, snake-faced being that represented much of what was evil in her world.

Hermione had never seen the look that came over the normally bubbly young woman.  
Then again, she had never seen Auror Tonks deal with an enemy.

"You might want to step back!" that's all the warning the older witch gave the younger as her wand came down in a slashing motion.  
"DIFFINDO!" She practically roared as Lord Voldemort, the most feared Dark Lord in an age, had his head neatly separated from his shoulders.

What both witches missed in the fervor of the moment was, at that moment, Lucius Malfoy took a long, deep breath, then settled into a slow, even rhythm.

Slightly shaking with adrenaline, Tonks cried out, "Dobby?" her wand was still leveled at the beheaded form of the Dark Lord.

"Dobby is here miss," the little Elf replied quietly after popping in with equal stealth.

"Dobby, please call for Kreacher," the witch instructed calmly.

Just the day before, in a coup of negotiation and insight, Hermione and Dobby had found a loophole in the House Elf rules. Although Dobby had been given to House Potter, he had never formally been dismissed since Harry was not yet of age to claim Head of House. While this allowed Dobby to work behind the scenes at Malfoy Manor, it still bound him to the House in other ways, such as preventing him from directly helping a Prisoner, such as Sirius, to escape. However that didn't apply to Kreacher, who Dobby could call as an Ally to House Potter.

Of course when Kreacher was told that he'd have to personally ally himself to Harry he almost burst a vein.

It took Hermione's considerable patience and talent at explaining details for them to work out an agreement that satisfied all parties. The young witch would have been astounded to discover that she was the first to ever broker a treaty between two Houses using their Elves. What's more, with neither House having an active Head of House, the agreements were actually fully binding to the Houses as well as the Elves.

"Dobby is calling Kreacher as Ally of House Potter for help." The little Elf's normally squeaky, timid voice was strangely calm and clear as he spoke.

Kreacher arrived with a small *crack*. He gently took hold of Sirius's hand and was promptly gone with a slightly louder *crack*

Only Hermione had been watching the ancient Elf; so only she saw the flicker of joy cross his craggy features, however briefly, as he took his Master home.

"Right." Tonks stated, and though there was no mistaking the relief in her voice, it also still held an edge that Hermione was unfamiliar with. She soon discovered what that edge meant as Tonks began systematically dissecting the now beheaded body with one "Diffindo" after another.

While there was surprisingly little blood, the noise alone drove Hermione into the next room. She cast a hastily modified privacy spell which only somewhat shielded her ears from the disgusting sounds of Tonks's gruesome work.

Finally, when she had heard nothing for a few moments, she hesitantly canceled her charm. Finding the only sound to be a somewhat heavily breathing Tonks, she chanced a glance back into the room. She carefully kept her eyes at face level trying not to even think about the gore that covered the floor between the two witches.

Speaking her mind as usual, the bushy haired girl looked curiously at the now recovering Auror. "Why?"

Hermione saw a smile grace her tutors face, yet even this was unusual for it's ferocity. "Why that spell?" She replied, a knowing grin replacing the fierce smile even as she continued to pant from her exertions. "Well it's a utility spell that can only cause major harm if cast with considerable power." she paused to take a few steadying breaths.

"So it won't trip the wards. Mostly it's used for kitchen chores, like dicing stew meat..." at this Tonks had to break off, her laughter choked a bit with her labored breathing. The look of disgust mixed with impatience that her student wore was just too funny to hold her bluff any longer.

Said student was less than amused, especially when she noticed the smell of the … remains. At this point Hermione had to quickly turn around and quell her stomach with a handy charm she had learned weeks ago.

Not daring to return her attention to the room, the young witch thought about switching subjects, keeping her back to the doorway.

Meanwhile the Auror had transfigured and reduced the remains of the corpse into a small bone, which she tucked into the clutch purse that would complete her disguise when she returned upstairs.

"Dobby, please clean all traces of this vileness from the floor, incinerate the ashes after you burn the remains if you have to, but allow none of it to remain on this earth. Then return here."

Hermione heard the quick "Yes miss," from Dobby and then the tell-tale sound of Elven apparition.

"What about, that is, how is Mr. Malfoy – he looked..." Hermione didn't want to finish that thought, her first impression of the senior Malfoy was that he looked like a corpse.

Tonks swiftly knelt next to Malfoy Sr. His color was markedly improved from what she had fleetingly remembered it to be when he first rose from the pit. "You can relax, your paramour's death eater father is just fine." The Auror's voice had chilled considerably, and was quite terse as she continued, "Actually you had better hurry if you're going to make it to that dance."

Hermione's response was cut off by the reappearance of Dobby with another quiet *pop*; which was fine as she was honestly at a loss to what she would say.

Hermione heard Tonks tone completely change as she addressed their small friend. "Dobby, can you take Mr. Malfoy to his suite without being noticed?"

He must have agreed because the next sound was Dobby leaving, and with that the older witch swept past Hermione's position. She did not slow down as she moved towards the stairs, now in full 'Emmeline' disguise.

"Don't forget to dust off your dress." Her parting, somewhat frosty shot made Hermione scowl with both confusion and an unexpected bit of guilt.

.o0o.

The second dance was winding down as 'Jean', made her way to the edge of the dance floor by the refreshments.

Draco found her in moments and the two danced a lively, progressive country dance from the Baroque period. The song was close enough to what Hermione had practiced that she picked up the steps immediately. She found – as she remembered from dancing with her friends – that dancing was one of the few ways that she could move and not feel ungainly. She had to acknowledge that the elegant, flowing silk dress didn't hurt that perception.

As planned, 'Emmeline' stepped in at the end of the dance to indicate that it was time to go.

This worked about as badly as it could have. Tonks had none of the presence, let alone the social grace, of the real Ms. Vance. Thus Tonks instead found herself cajoled into dancing with a middle-aged wizard who she had been briefed was a long-time suitor of hers, that is, Emmeline's.

Hermione, swept into the next dance even as she watched the man lean in close to Tonks, couldn't help but mutter "Oh Dear!"

Draco quirked a sculpted brow as he gently spun them to the music, "Is everything alright Miss Jean?"

"I, yes. That is, Emmy is, or has... oh, I'm rubbish at this. She'll have to fend for herself." The young witch blabbered in her flustered state. ' _What if he figures out that she's not who she's supposed to be?_ '

The panic must have been quite apparent upon her face as Draco leaned in on a pass between partners and, with amazing timing, asked, "I will keep watch... if she looks distressed... I'll take care of it." And on they danced.

Hermione schooled her features into a gentle smile. ' _How was she supposed to answer that?_ '

The next song was a traditional waltz. Draco and 'Jean' glided across the floor with equal grace. Which is to say that he matched her less than stellar footwork and made them both look good. She couldn't help but have fun as she had never been with such a competent dance partner. Nor had she had a boy give her such singular and undivided attention, for that matter. Her swirling emotions brought about her defenses however, and before the end of the waltz her practical mind was back in firm control; even if her heart still felt the flutter of disappointment.

"Draco, I... I think we need to speak with Emmy about what happened earlier."

Amazingly, the young man did not falter in his attitude, but simply inclined his head, as though expecting this turn of events. "Lets gather her from her paramour between songs then, shall we?"

His use of the word Tonks had just described Draco with not so long ago made Hermione wince. Thankfully her escort had turned and was leading her by the hand to the edge of the floor; almost effortlessly gathering Tonks/Vance along the way.

Their host quickly led them to a small room which appeared designed for meetings and they slipped inside.

'Emmeline' was almost unable to keep her character. Had Draco not been closing the hall door when Hermione whispered what had happened, he surely would have seen her eyes flash to Tonks's dark brown from Ms. Vance's cool greys.

Breathing deeply to stay calm, the Auror had to think fast to avoid immediately reverting to her official knowledge and training.

"What did he do, exactly?" The question was the most direct she could come up with without sounding like an officer. The concern in her voice required no acting.

Draco looked to 'Jean', and finding the girl timidly looking at her deep blue slippers, he spoke up.

" 'Lord' Cavendar, and I aim to challenge his title, or petition my father to when he is well that is, is a known predator upon inebriated or incapacitated women. Especially young women. His muggle and wizarding trade connections assure him of many high placed contacts to work the system – he has always escaped prosecution." Draco's sneer as he finished that statement seemed fitting to his audience.

"Unfortunately he has a standing invitation to our parties due to the volume of trade he does with Father, however I took precautions this night to monitor him." Draco paused to check the women's faces, they both appeared quite eager to hear the story.

"I put a small tracking charm on him as I greeted him, nothing illegal as he is my guest and I am acting Head of House while Father is ill. When he used a spell, I heard it. Having seen him take this lovely young woman aside, I ensured that I was close by. Thankfully I stepped in to prevent her from drinking from wine he had hexed with a powerful suggestion spell, the glass is in stasis under the guard of my personal Elf. It will have his magical signature on it as well as the spell itself in addition to my testimony. I aim to see him publicly humiliated, though your involvement should be able to be kept anonymous."

Hermione was blushing furiously before she realized, and she had to breathe deeply to keep from passing out. The full weight of what could have happened was bearing down upon her keen mind and she suddenly felt very grateful for the intercession of their host, regardless of his father's allegiance. She stuttered out "Thank you!" which seemed so far short of how she felt. In fact she hasn't the first clue as to how she feels and is quite glad for Tonks's presence when the disguised Auror breaks the awkward silence.

'Emmeline' played her role as wise matron perfectly. "I understand that you do not wish to disrupt the party. However, I have had dealings with the Aurors before and they'll want a statement quite soon. If you could consent to an Auror visiting you, say tomorrow morning, I will pass that along to a friend of mine."

Taking the younger witches hands in her own, Emmeline turned them toward the door. "Jean and I will be heading to the Ministry this evening to file our report. Thank you ever so much for watching over my charge, I know that I shall never forget this young Lord Malfoy. I doubt either of us shall."

The last is said with a knowing look that Hermione only ducks her head from when she sees it.

.o0o.

The night, which seemed to have been moving at an exhilarating pace thus far, soon became mired in the cogs of bureaucracy. In fact, had Tonks not been the one to take 'Emmeline's' statement, they might have had some fancy footwork to pull off with the questions. The Auror did have to call in the real Ms. Vance for her sworn deposition, which was magically binding. It wouldn't do to be caught in a Magical Perjury, especially as the Officer of Record!

Since Tonks never actually saw anything that happened, the real Emmeline's deposition of second and third hand knowledge was perfectly legitimate. Even with Tonks pushing the paperwork it was still quite late when the two witches finally arrived back at Grimmauld Place.

Tonks closed the door and almost ran into Hermione, who had stopped stock still a few steps inside the doorway.

There, finely decked out in a linen vest-coat covered by a House Black tabbard, was an almost regal appearing House Elf. It took the two young women several moments to realize that it was Kreacher who stood so rigidly – yet so elegantly dressed – before them.

Stepping out of the entryway seemed to be what the diminutive fellow was waiting for as he immediately swept into a quarter bow, "Welcome back young Misses. The Master is asleep in his bed and is not to be disturbed until Madam Pomfrey clears him. The rest of the household and guests have either retired or left, with the exception of the lycanthrope who awaits you in the kitchen. Therein you shall find a selection of foods should you need to sate your appetite before you retire. Breakfast is at the Misses leisure, though before ten is preferred."

The girls were gobsmacked, to say the least, but the little Elf was far from finished with his surprises.

There was the slightest hesitation, when suddenly there seemed to be a great weight descend upon the bony shoulders of the ancient Elf. Bent double with his grey-green nose now fully touching the floor, he continued in a tone that conveyed clearly that the normally caustic old servant was near tears.

"For my own part I can only offer my deepest gratitude. The actions of the young Misses and Mister Potter have brought my Master back whole and healed, it is more than I could have hoped for." Standing upright quite suddenly, the young witches could hardly be blamed for leaning back a bit, especially when they met the blazing, suspiciously moist look in the Elf's bright eyes.

"I will never forget, House Black will never forget, what you have done for it." With that the Elf dropped into another nose-to-floor bow and was suddenly gone with the softest of *pops*

The two young women could find no words. Between them passed a wide eyed stare, a shrug, and finally a broad, disbelieving smile.

They made their way wearily to the kitchen, to find Remus lightly dozing at the end of the laden table. Kreachers' description of a 'selection of foods' turned out to be a veritable feast. The kitchen was filled with the smells of many savory and delicious dishes and the sink magically working through mounds of pans and platters were testament that someone had been cooking and baking for hours.

The former Professor must have had very keen ears for he was awakened by the slightest swoosh that the newly oiled door made as it opened. He took one look at the girls, their faces still showing their stunned disbelief, and broke out into a low, rumbling chuckle. His smile lingered on Tonks, and Hermione immediately saw the bloom of a deep blush creep up her teacher's neck to her ears. The young witch realized that they were both still in their gowns, and while Emmeline's figure was tall and lean, Tonks' shorter form filled out the silvery taffeta gown with slightly more in the way of womanly curves. This had the effect of making the elegant dress a bit tight and, the youngster realized with a start, more enticing.

Hermione had wondered why Tonks had changed back into the gown after leaving the Auror's, and now she knew. She also knew when it was time to make an exit!

With a quick "I'm awful tired, g'night," on the way out the door, she didn't give either of the couple time to give protest before she ascended to her room.

It seemed like the climb took all of her energy. By the time she reached her room she was giddy at her ability to use magic to quickly strip off her dress and slip on some comfy flannel pj's. "Magic is so cool!" she murmured as she made her way into the bathroom, suddenly drawing to a stop as she realized just what she had said. Standing in the bathroom just one floor below her, she had said those same words with Harry, sharing a joyful camaraderie that seemed to be blooming into something more.

Now she had had a wonderful night with a charming young man who showed her nothing but respect and kindness. And interest. She wasn't blind to the way his eyes had lingered upon her, in fact that look had been the first time anyone had truly gazed upon her with want – at least that she had been aware of. She knew she was much too young to concern herself with sex at the age of fourteen. Yet her budding libido was not going to complain any more than her very shy and unsure ego. All of this was background noise to the witch's mind as she pondered what it meant to be desired while drifting through her nightly routine and off to dreams of fairy-tale endings that she had never once allowed herself as a younger girl.

.o0o.

The following two days were as frustrating to Hermione as the Solstice Rescue (and ball) had been rewarding.

She learned the next morning that Harry had been seriously affected by whatever had happened. Yet beyond that, nobody was telling her anything. She finally outright asked if he was dying, which did get a maddeningly placating "there there, don't be melodramatic," out of the school nurse, Madam Pomfrey.

In a strange contrast, Sirius, that is Lord Black, was up and around by the following noon, seemingly refreshed and energized. He certainly became somewhat morose at the mention of Harry's condition, but even then he only gave a "Poppy says he'll be fine," when the witch cornered him at supper that first night.

That's not to say that the Lord of the house was spending his time idle, the house felt like a thoroughfare with all the people that he escorted in and out through the next two days. She caught glances of all manner of witches and wizards, and what she was sure were a muggle doctor or two. Despite her part in the rescue, Hermione was quietly but firmly asked to stay in the library, kitchen or her room and out of traffic.

She felt very much like the young girl they seemed to see her as when her temper kicked up. She felt like throwing a fit, demanding to know what was going on. Once again her practical side clamped down on the emotions vibrating the room around her and she sulked into the brightly lit library; her mood was too dark to notice the rare December sun.

In response to the information black-out, the only thing on Hermione's agenda was revising for her tests, which she did listlessly. It was the first time academics could not hold her attention since she first discovered the seriousness of her mother's illness. She pondered the possibilities of reversing the flow of her Time-Turner, even though she had made a promise to Minerva that she would not be using it again; at least not until the Transfiguration teacher told her it was alright. Something about long term alteration to her core and stunting her magical development. The consequences sounded serious enough to keep the long golden chain secure in her trunk.

The only other occurrence of note was the headline of the next day's Daily Prophet, which proclaimed "Lord Malfoy returns from secret trade negotiations!" The story, which Hermione read with bemused disbelief, proclaimed that the many rumors surrounding Lucius Malfoy's demise or dire illness were entirely fabricated.

In fact, the paper went on to proclaim, Lord Malfoy's fortunes had so drastically improved through this latest trade agreement that he was throwing a New Years Eve Ball that would be the most lavish in recent memory.

Hermione folded up the paper, purposefully ignoring the brightly grinning Draco as he and his mother stood beaming behind the waving Lucius. She felt strangely guilty at how she had enjoyed the company of the younger Malfoy when Harry was in unknown but certainly dire condition.

She put the whole thing out of her mind, trusting that Sirius would take care of Harry. Still, she had to shake her head at how quickly the Malfoy's had recovered from their recent circumstances.

.o0o.

The next night, late on the 23rd, Hermione was awakened by a terrible scream; the likes of which she could somehow remember, as if from a fleeting dream involving rescuing Sirius. She found herself in the hall, trembling with fright as much as from the cold of the drafty old house before she realized it.

Staring up the stairs to the third floor, the young witch cringed as the pitiful, wailing moans were spiked with shrieks of utter despair. She found herself unable to move, rooted to the spot, caught between a longing to go comfort her friend and an almost primal dread that told her to run away from whatever could cause such misery.

The dreadful noise was suddenly cut off, the witch knowing that only magic could provide the unnaturally sudden silence.

A noise from downstairs reached her distracted mind and she realized that the floo had 'gonged', even as Albus Dumbledore came bounding up the stairs as if he were a man of twenty instead of past one hundred. The Headmaster continued up the next flight at an equal clip and the tread of his long strides soon disappeared into the silence as well.

She felt more than heard the arrival of Professor Lupin, and was ever so glad for his reassuring presence.

"Finally," he breathed, as though a great burden had been lifted.

Turning in place, she saw the older wizard leaning against the banister at the top of the landing, also gazing to the floor above. Raising an eyebrow, she waited for him to elaborate.

"Did you notice what the Headmaster was carrying?"

"No," she answered reflexively, but then her sleep addled brain kick started and she quickly amended, "a basin, a round stone basin or bowl of some kind." Her memory was sorting and picking through all that she had read, finally her eyes lit up as she turned to see her teacher looking at her with expectation.

"It was a pensieve. They're quite rare, am I right?"

Nodding appreciatively, the wizard looked up once again as he elaborated, "That's Dumbledore's own pensieve, they've been waiting for Harry to break free from wherever he went in his head. Whatever he went through caused him to retreat into his own mind. The mind healers Sirius brought in said it was quite common in cases of trauma, though they were cautious that there was no telling how long a person might hide like that. Then Professor Snape gave him a salve for his eyes that he said would make it easier to find his way back sooner than later.

Hermione stood staring up the stairs, her face a picture of horrified confusion. "How? That is, what happened?"

"That's not my story to tell, but I can assure you that we had no idea that such an effect was even possible. Sirius has been working his tail off trying to get the best treatment for him. He may hide it well, but this has all but broken his heart."

"That's what's wrong with Kreacher!" Hermione's exclamation even caught herself off-guard, she was still quite tired, having had tossed and turned the last two nights as unremembered phantoms chased through her dreams.

Looking to her teacher, she ducked her head slightly, a bit bashful at her outburst. "He was so up and vibrant that first night, and he's been sulking around a bit though he's still loads better than he was before."

"Yes, I noticed the vast improvement in the house, the service, even the meals. Though I cannot say I've caught sight of the fellow himself. I've always been amazed at how he seems to be a step ahead of what people..."

Remus trailed off before breaking into a smirk. "Do you smell that?"

Sniffing cautiously, as though afraid of danger, Hermione could not say she smelled a thing. Remus definitely has more acute senses than average! She shook her head, cocking it to the side in a questioning fashion.

"Tea." he stated simply. "The little bligh... that is, the Black family Elf has done it again," he finished with a smile. "Lets go down and await the verdict. They could be up there all night."

It wasn't long at all however before Albus came into the kitchen.

"Ahh, Kreacher, you do your family proud." The Headmaster spoke towards the far kitchen wall, which Hermione thought was odd, but since the Elf was once again out of sight it made as much sense as looking anywhere else.

Sitting down to a biscuit, the aged wizard's smile was tired but genuine as he surveyed the two keeping vigil.

"Harry has come through the worst of it. From what I understand he suffered through visions of Lord Voldemort attacking his mind. Since our Auror Tonks has thankfully disposed of that vile person, whoever he may have been, we can look forward to a very Happy Christmas, Yuletide and a much improved New Year."

With that the Headmaster ushered Hermione off to bed, ignoring all protests and refusing to divulge any more information. Remus escorted her up the stairs and once again it felt as though the trip sapped her strength for she was very glad to climb between her sheets.

.o0o.

December 24th dawned cold and clear through Hermione's single, tall bedroom window. She shivered at the early morning chill that the house always seemed to hold onto and wondered why they couldn't have magical central heating. Then again, she had only needed to apply a few quick heating charms and the room was toasty; her clothes actually a touch uncomfortable before she stepped into the hall.

The witches mind was awash with ideas on time-activated heating charms and wondering if she would get to see Harry at breakfast or not until lunch when she walked right into Harry himself.

The two shared an awkward moment while Harry realized that he was caught wandering the halls in his boxers.

Hermione tried not to stare at the various scars evident on the dark haired boys arms and even his chest.

They both started with an "Uhmm", which led to a laugh, and the tension was broken even as Harry moved quickly past her down the hall.

"I'll, uh, just get dressed, erm. Sorry!" he blurted out as he dashed up the stairs to the third floor.

For her part it was all the young witch could do not to burst out laughing at the absurdity of the meeting. She blew out a breath that she hadn't realized she was holding and only then realized that she had gone quite scarlet.

' _He does have quite toned chest and arms!_ ' Now even more embarrassed, Hermione dashed back into her room and began reciting Latin translations of Arithmancy, a subject she was struggling with, though it was fourth year material.

. . .

The two of them didn't find any time alone together for the rest of the morning. It seemed that most of the Order stopped by – even Molly Weasley and the twins, though the boys seemed quite subdued.

Hermione found herself fascinated by the way Tonks and Remus seemed to dance around one another as if nobody else saw that they were making eyes at each other most of the day. She wondered what that felt like, to be the sole object of someone's attention. When she later caught Harry staring at her with such an intense look, her heart leapt to her throat even though he had quickly looked away.

She had just mustered the courage to go speak with him, but the moment was ruined by none other than Sirius, dressed as none other than Father Christmas. The presents to family and friends were to be exchanged that afternoon as the group would be with their own family on Christmas Day as well as Boxing Day.

What distracted her for much of the rest of the afternoon however wasn't the presents but who accompanied 'Father Christmas'. Her father and Arthur Weasley entered to the loud acclaim of all gathered and a protest from Sirius, "oh sure, steal my thunder you two!" that got a round of laughter.

Hermione was rather proud of the gift she had gotten for both Harry and Sirius, a set of sneak-o-scopes keyed only to the other person. She had the twins make them, with her help, after hearing stories of the two playing hide and seek throughout the ancient manor house.

When Harry approached her with a long brown box with a gold bow, she knew she grinned a bit madly. She couldn't help it, no boy had ever given her a present.

He seemed quite nervous as he placed the box in front of her. "Erm, it's not much, I mean, as presents go. I don't know what to get a girl and, uh, well open it and if you don't like it..."

Interrupting him, she blurted "Harry, it'll be fine. It's the thought that counts." Hermione could not believe she had just said those atrocious words but she needed to get the boy to calm down. Besides which, he really looked quite tired already and it was just past three.

Sliding the thick golden ribbon from the box she realized that it was made with some kind of hide. She tried not to wince as her mind cycled through a dozen different animal parts that a boy might give a girl as a prank. Steeling herself she opened the box to find a length of what looked like pale silvery leather, with several straps and a hole at the end.

Not able to help herself, she looked up with a question on her lips; she had no idea what it was on first glance.

"It's a dragon skin wand holster, their dead useful, this one is from a Ukrainian Ironbelly, one of the most magic resistant species. It's enchanted to allow you to summon your wand and to keep you from being disarmed."

Harry had rattled off the information much in the same way Hermione herself did when she was excited about a subject; she was very happy to see his green eyes so animated. She also knew that look as he wound down, the one she got when she thought she had been blabbering on.

"It's wonderful Harry, I'm sure I'll be using it a lot at school. Thank you."

Blushing, Harry then pulled a large book from out of hiding by the tree. It was bound in thick red, blue and green leather, and wrapped with a similar golden bow. "I also got you this, but I didn't think just a book was a good enough present. So... here, uh, Happy Christmas Hermione."

The tome, for that's certainly what it was, was titled "The Compleat Treatise on the Subject of Wands, Rods and Staves." It looked ancient, and Hermione saw the Potter crest stamped deeply into the bottom of the spine.

"It's..." She honestly choked up. She knew it was silly, to get emotional over a book, but this was a Family book, something that was Harry's, and obviously very old and probably priceless. She looked up with a watery gaze to see that he was staring at his trainers, his dark hair covering his face.

Trying again, Hermione felt a bit of a cry coming on and knew that crying would just seal it as a disaster so she quickly grabbed him up in a hug before he could see the water-works. Finally she managed to squeak out "It's the best presents, that is, they are, just thanks Harry, really." With a final squeeze she beamed up at him quickly, then took her prizes to show her father.

She glanced back to see that he was smiling brightly, which she returned as she settled down beside her dad to look at the book.

For the rest of the afternoon Hermione found herself trading occasional glances with the dark haired boy, however she didn't get to talk with him again as it seemed he always had someone speaking with him. Several of those people seemed to be doctors of some kind because he had to leave with them and came back alone and a big grumpy. Before she could get another chance he had fallen deeply asleep on the couch a little before five.

The group hushed a bit as Sirius gently picked up the teen, and Hermione thought he looked peaceful for the first time since she had known him.

The rest of the afternoon and into the evening was spent playing traditional holiday games after a feast fit for two Kings, an Emperor and all their courts.

The best part of the day was when her father tucked her in, she felt a little silly with all of the mature things she had been part of or thinking of lately, but having him back made her feel content.

His parting wish of "Happy Christmas Hermione." was heartfelt, and as she thought on it, she realized that it truly had been. For that matter, she could see that her life looked to have a lot to be thankful for. Snuggling into her soft bed she dreamed of the castle she would be schooling at, of reading books with green eyed wizards and dancing with grey eyed princes and learning how to pop around like the elves and running through dark halls that turned to pits of utter blackness which is how she awoke, again, chilled to her core and straining her eyes to see even though the room was bathed in the gentle light of a waxing half moon.

.o0o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my wife for continuing as my Beta, the story would not be posted without her help and advice.
> 
> Recommended reading: Epitaph by chem prof - An excellent post for the Christmas Season - even if it's in story and not IRL.
> 
> I know that I missed the mark, but I still hope that the spirit and peace of Christmas will be with you and yours.  
> 
> 
> . . .
> 
> Blessings,  
>  Majerus


End file.
